


The Puppet

by destinyofamerath



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkwardness, Courtship, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Insecurity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:44:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5359856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destinyofamerath/pseuds/destinyofamerath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world may be falling apart, but at least Evelyn has Cullen. He adores her. He brings her flowers, holds her hand, and tells her she's beautiful - and the sex is A-MAZ-ING. No one has ever been so sweet to her before, and she's pretty sure she'd fall apart if anything happened to him.</p><p>Then she finds out that, way back at the beginning, the advisors decided that someone needed to get close to the Herald to try to control her actions - and Cullen drew the short straw.</p><p>A fill for <a href="http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/15866.html?thread=59728378">this</a> kmeme prompt.  Currently on hiatus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Puppeteer

“I am sorry for what we are about to ask of you, Cullen.”

That was _not_ the most comforting greeting to be given as soon as he stepped into the war room.  Cullen hesitated for just a moment before pulling the door closed behind him.  “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

Leliana had none of Cassandra’s uncertainty.  “Commander Cullen pledged his support to the Inquisition long ago, Cassandra.  He knew our work wouldn’t be easy when he agreed to join us.  Didn’t you?”  Her blue-grey eyes were piercing as they flicked to him, and he immediately found himself standing up a little straighter.

“That _does not_ make this right,” Cassandra countered hotly.  “Only necessary.”

“I knew when I joined the Inquisition that sacrifices would be required of me,” Cullen interrupted.  “I am prepared to do what I must.”

Josephine shot him a sympathetic glance from across the room, her mouth twisting up in half of a smile.  She seemed to be the only one who understood what he was doing.

The days since the explosion at the Conclave had been trying for everyone, but none more so than the Left and Right Hands of the Divine.  Cullen could see the way that the events had worn them down until they were raw and bitter.  In Cassandra, it was subtle - if he hadn’t spent most of the past year at her side, he might not have even noticed the changes.  She had thrown herself into her work, training the recruits that were flooding into Haven and searching the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes for any clues as to who had caused the explosion.  It was only in the way her face would tense up sometimes, as she tried to gather all the shattered pieces of herself close and hide them behind a mask of fierce strength, that he could see her distress and grief.

Leliana’s stress was more obvious.  The Left Hand of the Divine ha never had a reputation as a merciful, kind person simply by nature of her job, but since the death of Divine Justinia, Leliana had become even colder, prying information out of anyone she even suspected of having anything to with the tragedy at the Conclave with ruthless efficiency.  Even her little birds had noticed the terse change in her demeanor and had begun to avoid her unless they had to - and even then, he could hear them arguing amongst each other about who would be the bearer of bad news.

He and Josephine were the only ones that were still steady on their feet.  Everyone grieved the loss of Most Holy, but neither of them had known her personally, while both Leliana and Cassandra had spent most of the past few years at her side.  The agreement between the two of them had been a silent one, acknowledged in little more than silent glances and the occasional respectful nod, but a powerful one none the less.  The explosion at the Conclave and the death of the Divine, combined with the search for the perpetrator and the preparation for the founding of the Inquisition, meant that none of them had much time to rest and grieve, and none of them could give less than all of themselves to their work.  However, both he and Josephine would do whatever they could to ease the burdens of the Seeker and Sister Nightingale - even if it meant taking those burdens upon themselves.

The smile Leliana gave in response to his words was sharp and lupine.  “Excellent.  Cassandra had her doubts, but I knew you would agree to help.”

The look on Cassandra’s face, however, made him nervous.  He had never seen the Seeker look so uncertain.  “What,” he said slowly, “Would you ask of me?”

“We’d like you to...get to know Lady Trevelyan as soon as she awakens again.”

Cullen furrowed his brows.  A strange request, but nothing to worry himself about - and certainly not warranting the strange look Cassandra was wearing.  “I am happy to help in whatever why I can.  But, can I ask - why?”

“We only think that - “

“Don’t dance around the question, Leliana,” Cassandra scoffed.  “If he’s going to do this, you can’t dance around the topic.  Cullen, we need you to court her.”

Cullen nearly choked on the air he was breathing.   _“I beg your pardon?”_

“ _Tact_ , Cassandra,” Leliana admonished.

“Tact has no place here,” she snapped in return.  “Only honesty.”

“Tact and honesty are not mutually exclusive,” Josephine pointed out.

“Exactly,” Leliana agreed.  “We don’t need to drop the news on him and - “

“Would _someone_ ,” Cullen finally interrupted, “ _please_ explain what is going on?”  That silenced the three bickering women for a moment.

Josephine was the first to speak.  “Lady Trevelyan is a wild card,” she explained.  “No one could have expected the dea- “ she cut herself off with a glance toward Cassandra and Leliana before rephrasing herself.  “ - could have expected what happened at the Conclave.  Even fewer would have thought that Evelyn Trevelyan, who everyone believed was behind the explosion, would emerge as our unlikely savior.  No one else could have stabilized the Breach like she did.  The mark on her hand is suspicious, to say the least, but no one seems to care.  She has already been dubbed ‘The Herald of Andraste’ by many.  The faithful have already begun to flock here, just for the chance to see the one who they believe to be Andraste’s chosen in person.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard the rumors.  That doesn’t explain why you want me to _court_ her.”

“Lady Trevelyan _is_ a wild card in this situation,” Leliana repeated, “but one that we can play to our advantage.  As you are aware, in a few days, we will be declaring ourselves the Inquisition, as was Most Holy’s dying wish.  We have the connections, we have the spies, and soon, we will have the army.  However, we are still missing the most important piece - a leader.  Without an Inquisitor, we are like a dragon with its head cut off.”

It only took him a moment to realize what she was suggesting.  “What happened to Hawke?  What happened to the Warden?  I thought you wanted one of them to lead us.”

“The Warden is nowhere to be found,” Leliana replied.  “Not even her king knows where she has gone.  She has simply disappeared - not in Denerim, not in Vigil’s Keep, not anywhere I have spies.”

“And Hawke?”  When he had first heard that Cassandra was searching for Hawke to lead the Inquisition, some part of him had secretly prayed she would not be found.  His relationship with the Champion had been tense to say the least, and he hadn’t been looking forward to taking orders from her, but suddenly, he was hoping against hope she would come crawling out of the woodwork, impossibly alive, just as she used to in Kirkwall.

“Also gone,” was Cassandra’s response.  “The dwarf had no information.  He says she intentionally kept her location from him to keep him safe.”

“But one of them might show up.  If they hear what’s happened, they may be willing to help us.”

Leliana was already shaking her head.  “We are out of time.  We cannot delay any longer.  Thedas needs the Inquisition now, which means we need a leader as soon as possible.”

“So you install a figurehead into the role of Inquisitor.”  The words left a sour taste in his mouth.

Leliana nodded.  “There is no one else that could be suited to the position.  Having a true leader would be ideal, but _nothing_ about this situation is ideal.  We need someone the people can look to as the face of the Inquisition, who will represent everything it stands for.  Trevelyan will be that puppet, drawing the eye and putting on a show, but it is the puppeteers that truly run the show.  We will run the Inquisition.”

“We won’t spring this on her right away,” Josephine said quickly.  “It would look strange if we suddenly declared her the Inquisitor, since we were accusing her of creating the Breach only three days ago.  We will have a trial period, where we’ll groom her for the position - in secret, of course.  Eventually, after she’s ‘proven’ herself, we’ll make her the Inquisitor - and by the time we do that, she’ll be perfect for the role.”

“We’ll start slow,” Leliana continued.  “Give her small decisions; let her think she has some power among us, while we make the choices that will actually drive the Inquisition forward.  We can relegate them to her once she is the Inquisitor, but it will be a farce.  We will still hold all the power.  However, we need a point of control - some way to manipulate her into making our decisions.”

“Me,” Cullen said softly, bitterly.

“Yes,” Leliana said.  “You.”

“But...why _me?_ ” he stammered.  “If you asked me to join the Inquisition for my ability to manipulate people, then you’ve definitely picked the wrong person.  Isn’t that why _you’re_ here, Leliana?  Why not you, or Josephine?”

Leliana pulled a note from the small pile of papers she had hefted in one arm and handed it to him.  “I’ve been collecting any information I could find about Lady Trevelyan since she arrived.  I started hunting for this when she stabilized the Breach.  Do you know what it is?”

Cullen furrowed his brows at the paper clutched in his hand.  “A list of names?” he guessed.

“Not just any names.  That is a list of her known previous lovers.”  Cullen’s eyes jerked away from the paper and upwards toward the ceiling, his face flushing red.  He wasn’t going to invade her privacy like this, and if Leliana would -

“ _Read it,_ ” Leliana insisted, and reluctantly his gaze drifted back to the four or five names scrawled onto the parchment.  He thanked the Maker that none of the names immediately looked familiar to him - not that they should have.  According to Leliana, Trevelyan had spent most of her life in Ostwick.  “What do all of those names have in common?”

Cullen furrowed his brows down at the paper.  What could they all have in common?  They were just names…

It only took him a moment to piece it together.  “They’re all men,” he said weakly, but he recovered himself quickly.  “That doesn’t mean anything,” he said, his voice firmer now.  “You said they were known lovers.  There could have been others - maybe she kept them secret.”

“It’s possible, Leliana admitted, “But there’s no way to know.  There are too many factors to account for, and we don’t have enough time to track them all.  Right now, you have the best chance.”

“But - I - she - “  Finally, he found his conviction.  “No.  I will not.  I didn’t join the Inquisition to deceive and lie, to - to _manipulate_ some girl’s feelings for our own benefit-”

“But you would for Kirkwall?” Leliana interrupted sharply, and Cullen’s mouth snapped shut.  A vein jumped beneath his jawline, and his hands clenched into fists.  “Your time with the Order is over, Commander - you told us that yourself.  You’d give less to the Inquisition than you would to the templars, even after everything they’ve done?”

“ _Leliana,_ ” Josephine hissed, and Leliana quieted, though her glare was still intense.  “We know what we are asking of you is not easy, Commander,” she continued, her voice softer.  “I like the idea as much as you do, but we have no other choice.  We are out of time and out of options.  If it helps, know that you are doing it for the right reasons.  Right now, Thedas _needs_ the Inquisition - and _we_ need an Inquisitor.”

Cullen shot Cassandra a pleading look.  He had seen the books she had tried to keep hidden throughout their trip across the Waking Sea - _surely_ she could see why he took issue with this.

For once, she would not meet his gaze.  “I am sorry, Cullen.  These are desperate times which call for drastic measures.  If I could see another way…” she shook her head.  “But I cannot.”

“Oh, come now, Commander,” Leliana said cheerily.  “It won’t be so terrible.  Evelyn Trevelyan isn’t an unattractive woman, you can’t think - “

“I don’t care,” he snapped.  “I won’t manipulate someone’s feelings like that.  I’m here to train soldiers and lead armies.  Find someone else to do it.”

“I was worried you might say that,” Leliana sighed.  She pulled the sheaf of papers from under her arm and waved them in Cullen’s direction.  He hesitated before taking it, considering the last time he had taken a paper from her it had contained a list of a woman’s former trysts.

As soon as he saw what was on the first sheet, he wished he hadn’t.  Josephine and Cassandra exchanged curious glances when the blood rushed from Cullen’s face.  Josephine leaned over to peek at what was on the page, but Cullen reeled back away from her.

“It would be a shame if the contents of that file were to finds its way into the public eye.  Wouldn’t you agree, Commander?” she said almost casually, prompting more confused looks between Cassandra and Josephine.  He thought he saw Josephine mouth a question, and Cassandra just shrugged in response to whatever she had asked.  “Ah, and I wouldn’t try destroying that if I were you.  It’s only a copy.”

Cullen tore through the papers, skimming as quickly as he could.  The file had everything to embarrassing stories from his childhood (Was Leliana in contact with Mia?  He resolved to write her as soon as possible to request that she not tell tall tales to stranger) to an account of the events at Kinloch Hold.  Worst of all were the reports and interviews which started near the middle of the file, detailing the full extent of the events in Kirkwall - not just the Kirkwall rebellion, but also of everything ( _everything_ ) that had happened within the Kirkwall Circle of Magi during his tenure as Knight-Captain.

“You can’t - you can’t prove _any_ of this,” he managed to get out.

“Does it matter?” Leliana replied.  “Rumor cares little for truth - only for a good story.  I think there are _several_ of those to be found there.”

“Blackmail, Leliana?” Cassandra asked, aghast.  “We were going to _ask_ him.”

“This Inquisition will require many sacrifices of us all before its end, Cassandra.  For me, it is to do whatever I must to achieve our goals - even if it means blackmail.  Commander Cullen, at least, has been given a choice in this - he can romance a beautiful woman, and in doing so, help end a war and restore peace to Thedas, or he can see every mistake he’s ever made and every crime he’s ever committed made common knowledge.  Now, the only question is - what will he do with this choice?”

Cassandra’s fists were flexing rhythmically, and Cullen could see her open her mouth to defend him once more.  He shook his head slightly, and Cassandra hesitated.  He shouldn’t have been surprised that Leliana would resort to blackmail to get what she wanted - she had been Left Hand of the Divine, after all.  It had been all she had done for years.

And he did have a choice, as she had stated, though he didn’t have much time to make it - he wouldn’t put it past Sister Nightingale to start spreading some of the more innocuous stories about the barracks as he deliberated.

Looking down at the papers still clutched in his fist, it really didn’t feel like much of a choice.

“Very well.  How do we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, all! This should be fun - hope you all enjoy!
> 
> A quick note before we launch into this - as stated, this story is being written for a kmeme fill. All of the content for this story will be posted to the kmeme first, probably a couple of weeks in advance. However, everything that goes up on the kmeme is unedited or mostly unedited. The chapters that are posted here HAVE been edited. It's up to you whether you want to get your updates sooner, but deal with the occasional spelling and grammatical error, or if you prefer a more polished work with slower updating.
> 
> I do ask that, if you're reading ahead, you don't comment about anything that hasn't been posted to AO3 yet on the AO3 comment thread. Instead, you can comment anonymously on the kmeme, or contact me privately. Reviews and comments here are love, though, since they spread the story to other people. <3
> 
> You can also check me out on tumblr at [wordsinthenight](http://wordsinthenight.tumblr.com/).


	2. The Templar

Of all of the people she had met since the explosion at the Conclave, Cassandra Pentaghast was the _last_ person Evelyn would have expected to become her friend.  Before she had even awoken, the Seeker had already judged her and deemed her guilty, and seemed eager to carry out whatever punishment she thought to fit her supposed crime.

Though she had yet to apologize for her previous actions - not that Cassandra seemed the apologetic sort in the first place - Evelyn could see the way she tried to atone for that every day since she had woken after stabilizing the Breach.  In the battles to retake the Crossroads in the Hinterlands, Cassandra was the first to rush to her side when an enemy strayed too close without her knowledge.  In the couple of weeks since she had met her, she had already saved her life half a dozen times - the time she had turned to find Cassandra bashing an assassin’s face in with her shield right before he had sunk his blades into her back had been particularly memorable.  Evelyn did her best to keep her safe as well - whenever Cassandra found herself surrounded by opponents, they would suddenly find themselves frozen to the ground, or a convenient lightning bolt would strike down several at once.

She would have dismissed it as nothing more than the bonds formed in battle, but it was more than that.  More than once during the long trip through the Hinterlands, the Seeker had approached her warily.  At first, Evelyn had thought she still suspected her of creating the Breach, considering the cautious way she spoke to her.  However, Cassandra rarely asked what she remembered of the Conclave anymore - at least, no more than anyone else would have.  Instead, they were questions about her - what her family was like (she didn’t speak to her parents, but still had occasional contact with her siblings), how old she had been when she had discovered her magic (thirteen - surprisingly old), if she had enjoyed her time in the Ostwick Circle of Magi (yes).

The last answer seemed to surprise her, as it did most people.  It wasn’t a lie, more like an omission of the facts - but the truth was far more complicated than she cared to explain mid-battle.

Their friendship had really taken off when Cassandra had found her reading an old romance novel Evelyn had found hidden in the back of the Haven Chantry’s library one evening.  She and the Seeker shared a tent, but Cassandra had had first watch that night, so she hadn’t felt guilty pulling it out of the bottom of her bag and stretching out on her stomach on her bedroll to read a few pages.

A few pages became a chapter, and then two chapters, and soon enough, she was halfway through the book, desperate to know if the arrogant Lady Laurita could ever truly love her dashing stablemaster, or if poor, handsome, noble Markus Farrier would take a vow of chastity and join the Order, as he had promised he would if his lady love rejected him.

She was at the beginning of one of the racier parts of the book, the parts that always sent her heart racing and face flushing - even if she knew how unrealistic they were, she couldn’t help the thrill of excitement she felt as she read along.  Markus had pulled his lady into the stables to steal a kiss, but instead of the quick, innocent meeting that both had expected, it had quickly devolved into something much more passionate.  Laurita had been plucked up off the ground and dropped unceremoniously into a hay pile, and too distracted by the warm press of her lover above her to make more than a cursory attempt at indignation.  His lips and teeth wandered across her dusky throat, his questing fingers plucking at the strings of her bodice, loosening it slightly with every pass.  His knee nudged between hers, and she parted them just enough that he could settle it between her legs.  His thigh raised up to -

That was when the flap on the tent flipped open, revealing Cassandra.  Her eyes immediately dropped to the cover of the book she was reading, then to the candle that still burned in the tent.  With a squeak, Evelyn shoved the novel beneath her bedroll, resting her weight on top of it to dissuade the other woman from trying to pull it out from beneath her.

The tent was silent for a moment as the two women sized each other up.  Then, Cassandra let the flap fall shut behind her.  “What are you - “

“Nothing,” Evelyn said quickly - too quickly.  “Absolutely nothing.  Nothing at all that would interest you.”  She nearly groaned when she realized she had forgotten to mark her page and had no idea how far into the book she had been.

Hesitantly, Cassandra sat down cross-legged on the bedroll beside her.  There was another extended silence, and Evelyn blew out the candle she had been reading by and settled down to sleep, still silently bemoaning the fact that she would have to go digging through the book to find the part she had been reading next time.

Then, out of the darkness, softly: “Did you get to the ball scene?”

She paused for a moment before answering.  “The one where he confesses his love to her through evocative Antivan poetry?”

“Yes.”

“I did.”  Then, she hesitantly continued, “I can’t believe her fiancé didn’t hear them.”

That seemed to be the confirmation Cassandra was waiting for.  “By the Maker, I _know_ ,” she hissed.  “He was right around the corner!”

“But he was purring it right into her ear.  Maybe it was quiet enough that he didn’t notice?”

“Not with the noises she was making.”

“Oooo, that’s right, he was…”

“He _was_.”

The conversation quickly turned animated despite the late hour; the two women debating what was and wasn’t practical about the book, but both agreeing that it was an excellent read.

As soon as the quiet cough echoed from outside, both Cassandra and Evelyn froze.  After a moment, the flap of the tent opened a fraction, and Solas’ face appeared in the gap, the dying firelight glinting off of his bald head.  It was only then that Evelyn realized that their voices had been steadily rising as their excitement grew.

“You two,” he said, raising his eyebrows at the two women bent over the book in the middle of the tent, “Are _very_ lucky Varric is a heavy sleeper.  I doubt he would ever let you live this down.”

Cassandra’s face flushed, and she focused her eyes onto the wall of the tent away from Solas.  A disgusted noise left her as she pointedly avoided either of their gazes.

The color of Evelyn’s face had also deepened until it nearly matched the shade of her hair.  “Please don’t tell anyone,” she said in a small voice.

“Tell anyone what?”  Solas said innocently, shooting her a soft smile.  “I’m only here to wake you and found you both in a deep, deep sleep.  It’s your turn to keep watch.”

She couldn’t help but match his smile.  “Thank you, Solas.  Get some sleep.  I’ll wake you at dawn.”

As Solas retreated to his tent, she felt Cassandra lightly rest a hand on her arm.  “You haven’t finished the book yet?” she asked.

Evelyn shook her head.  “Don’t spoil anything.  I want to find out what happens on my own.”

“Of course,” Cassandra acquiesced immediately.  “But I have to ask - what do you think will happen?  How do you think it will end?”

Evelyn mulled her reply over before answering.  “Laurita is too proud to accept him so easily.  He'll probably end up joining the Order in the end.”

“Hoping for a sequel?” Cassandra gave her a wry smile.

“Maybe,” she said with a mysterious smile.  “Besides, who knows?  She might enjoy the charm of a templar.  They certainly can be alluring under the right conditions.”

Something sparked in Cassandra’s eyes, and Evelyn’s head cocked to one side when she jerked her gaze to the side to hide it.  “You find templars...alluring?” she asked.  There was a strange tone to her voice; one that Evelyn couldn’t quite place.

“A little,” she admitted.  She leaned in close to Cassandra with a smile, like girls sharing a naughty secret - which was exactly what it was.  “When I was back in the Circle, my friends and I used to take our lunch out on the balconies of the tower on hot summer days.  We used to pretend we wanted some fresh air, or we wanted to enjoy the nice weather - of course, it had _nothing_ to with the fact that the templars used to train in the courtyard and would pull their shirts off when it got too warm.”  She leaned back with a giggle, her face glowing with a blush once more.  Even the mental image of their sweat-slicked, muscular bodies sent a curl of heat through her.

“Fond of templars?”  The corner of Cassandra’s mouth turned up in a wry smile.  “There are a few around Haven.  I could make a couple of introductions, if you’d like.”

That quickly doused the warmth blooming in her.  “I’d rather you didn’t,” she said, shorter and sharper than she had intended.  She pulled her coat out from beneath her bags - even though it was warm inside the tent, there was a late Kingsway chill in the air, especially in these early hours before morning.

“I thought you liked templars,” Cassandra said slowly.

“Not anymore,” she responded tersely.  With that, she stepped out into the frosty night air, leaving Cassandra behind to her befuddlement.

Though Cassandra asked her a couple of times afterwards about her strange response, she quickly gave up when Evelyn gave little more than vague, noncommittal answers.  That was something she liked about Cassandra - if Evelyn was resolute enough, she wouldn’t push for answers by asking leading questions.  If Cassandra started asking about her time in the Ostwick Circle, it was because she wanted to know about the Ostwick Circle, or her childhood.  She was straightforward enough that Evelyn knew she wasn’t making a veiled attempt to ask about something she was uncomfortable discussing.

But more than her ferocity in battle or love of silly romance novels, Evelyn appreciated Cassandra’s candor.  Leliana and Josephine would both tell lies to get what they wanted.  Cullen could not be trusted.  Varric was a storyteller - falsehoods were his bread and butter, even if they were enjoyable to listen to.  She could generally trust Solas to be honest with her - as apostates, they had to look out for each other, and the two of them had come to a silent understanding of sorts - but she also knew that Solas would temper the truth to soften a blow.  He did it out of kindness, but there were times when Evelyn needed a direct answer.

She could trust Cassandra to have that sort of bluntness.  The Seeker was not a natural-born liar, and Evelyn suspected that if Cassandra tried to deceive her, it would show on her face as plain as day.  However, to her knowledge, Cassandra had yet to lie directly to her face.  She was honest, even if the truth was hard.

Cassandra had been the one to deliver her the news of the many deaths of the Conclave.  Cassandra was the one who had told her of the others from the Ostwick Circle, the mages and Tranquil that she had spent most of her life with, and how their bodies had been found crushed under the rubble.  Cassandra had been the one to stand at her side as the funeral pyres burned, had been the one to step away respectfully when the tears in her eyes overflowed and spilled down her cheeks, had been the one to pretend not to hear when she began to sniffle, had been the one to lead her away silently and press a warm mug of mulled cider into her hands afterwards, no questions asked.

Yes, Evelyn truly valued Cassandra’s friendship.

That was why the angry look on the Seeker’s face worried her so.

In a few days time, Evelyn would leave for Val Royeaux to address the clerics who had gathered there.  Most condemned the fledgling Inquisition as opportunistic at best, heretical at worst.  Though it had done little to stem the flow of believers steadily trekking into Haven, Thedas needed to be united to stop the Mage-Templar War and close the Breach, which meant winning the Chantry’s favor.

Evelyn had been invited to one of the last war table meetings before her departure - she seemed to be attending more and more of those lately.  Ever since, however, Cassandra had been in a strange mood.  Most days, the two would leave the war room together and head down to the small, over-crowded tavern, where no one would pay any attention to two women discussing a naughty book.  That day, she had all but stormed out of the room as soon as the meeting was done.

She hadn’t thought much of it at the time - Cassandra was a busy woman, and was bound to have other important duties she needed to take care of.  She couldn’t spend every evening gossiping with her, after all.  Instead, she sought out Varric, eager for more information on his “Tale of the Champion”.

It was only after pestering Varric for details about his next book that Evelyn saw Cassandra stalking out from between two buildings, headed for the city wall.  She briefly caught her eye, but instead of walking over to join her or even giving a nod in greeting, Cassandra scowled and turned down another path that would take her further away.

Evelyn quickly excused herself to chase after her.  “Cassandra!”  Her frame stiffened for just a moment, but then she turned to face her.  “Is everything all right?”

“Everything is fine,” Cassandra said stiffly.

Evelyn didn’t buy it for a minute.  “If something’s wrong, you can tell me.  You don’t have to tell me what, if you don’t want to, but I’d like to know if something’s going on.”

“I said,” Cassandra repeated with a glare, “Everything is fine.”

_That_ irked her a little.  “Cassandra, we’re leaving for Val Royeaux in less than a week.  When we arrive, we need to be a united front before the clerics.  If I’ve done something to upset you, _tell me_.  I’d rather deal with any bad blood between us before we leave, instead of letting it fester.”

Cassandra let out a deep sigh, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose.  When she opened them again, her mouth had set into a firm line.  “You say that we must be a united front before the clerics; that we cannot show any sign of weakness or argument between us.”

“That’s right.”

“Then why do you contribute to it yourself?”

Evelyn’s eyebrows furrowed.  “I’m sorry; I’m not sure I understand.”

“I’m talking about Commander Cullen.”

_Ah._  That answered her question.  Evelyn knew that Cassandra and Cullen were friendly - according to Cassandra’s story, she had been the one to recruit him to the Inquisition in the first place, in the early days of the war before anyone knew anything about the Conclave or the Divine’s will.  They had traveled together for nearly a year; it made sense that they were close.

That didn’t mean that Evelyn had to like him.  The Commander was a templar - or a former one, at least, though he still clung to his title of Knight-Commander - and during this time of war, she could not afford to trust the Order or its scions.

If that had led to her cool attitude toward him, who could blame her?  The advisors of the Inquisition occasionally asked her opinion at the war table on what course of action to take if it would directly affect her, but it was rare for her to agree to Cullen’s suggestions.  Perhaps she had been dismissive of his ideas, but it was only because she had no idea what his scheme was; what nefarious grand plan he could be putting into action.

And if she was curt with him outside of the war room?  Well, she had no reason not to be.  Their relationship was strictly professional, as it needed to be.  She did not need to like him, and he did not need to like her, though he seemed determined to form some sort of positive connection with her, considering how often he approached her.  Thankfully, the cooler and more dismissive she was with him, the more he seemed to realize his friendship was not welcome, and the more he left her to her own devices.

How could she explain to Cassandra that every time she saw the flaming sword emblazoned on his vambraces, she had to clench her hands into fists to hide the shaking that started in them?  She could not afford to show him any fear, any kindness, because any sign of weakness he was sure to find and exploit for his own gains.

Even if he always spoken to her gently, despite her animosity, she couldn’t allow their exchanges to be anything more that frosty.  The last time Evelyn had been approached by a templar with kind eyes and soft words, he had shoved her off of a third-story balcony and accused her of trying to run away before declaring her an apostate.  She could not make such a mistake again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she evaded.

“Do _not_ play coy with me,” Cassandra snapped.  “Cullen has been nothing but courteous and kind to you, and yet you snap at him at every turn.  For the Maker’s sake, he still calls you ‘Lady Trevelyan’ - at your insistence, I might add.  I haven’t seen you force such formality on anyone else.”

It had been a mad tactic to try and keep him at arm’s length - which had apparently been far too blatant.  “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Evelyn huffed.

“No,” Cassandra agreed, much to Evelyn’s surprise.  “You don’t.  But you are an agent of the Inquisition, and you have to present yourself as such.  The people will follow our example - and yours in particular.  You _are_ the Herald of Andraste.”

Evelyn glanced down at the mark on her palm, its glow dulled beneath her gloves.  The title still sent a surprised jolt down her spine, followed by a curl on uneasiness.  “I didn’t ask to be,” she mumbled.

“But you are.  And if people see that you, the Herald of Andraste and a mage, are intentionally mistreating a former templar for no apparent reason, they will follow follow your lead.  But if you set an example and show that mages and templars _can_ work together, perhaps they will follow suit as well.”

As much as Evelyn wanted to fight her on the issue, she knew she couldn’t.  She would not allow herself to act like petulant child; to pout and tell Cassandra that she didn’t want to make nice.

Cassandra was right - she had to be an example to any who watched.  With the murmurs about her supposed divinity, the eyes of everyone in Haven and beyond were on her.  She could not ask them to do something she was unable to.  And who knew?  Perhaps, if she extended forgiveness to the Order, perhaps they would reform as well.

That didn’t make the trust come any easier.

“I will...try,” she finally said.  The words tasted like dust in her mouth.  “It’s...hard to describe, but please try to understand this isn’t a simple task for me.”  She glanced away briefly.  “It’s complicated.”

Cassandra scoffed.  “Please.  I’m not asking you to marry him.”  That earned her a snort, and one corner of the Seeker’s mouth turned up in half a smile.  “Only to be civil - friendly, if you can manage it.  You’ve managed to strike up a camaraderie with Josephine and Leliana - only extend him the same courtesy.  If he gives you reason to be upset, tell me and I will deal with him personally - but I don’t think he will.  Cullen is a good man.”

“I trust your judgement,” Evelyn replied.  Then, she sighed.  “I suppose I owe him an apology, don’t I?  I’ve been terribly rude to him.”

“You do,” Cassandra agreed.  Evelyn was glad to see the frustrated look on her face had finally cleared away.  “But I think you’ll figure out a way to do it.  Don’t worry.  By the time we return from Val Royeaux, I’m sure much of the conflict will already be forgotten.”

But Evelyn knew she couldn’t wait until after their trip to Val Royeaux to speak to him.  She was no coward, but she still needed the time to work up the courage.  She was not too proud to admit when she was wrong, but that didn’t make apologies any easier.

She started small.  Whenever she crossed paths with Cullen within Haven, instead of ignoring him or, worse, moving as far out of his way as she could manage, she raised her head to meet his eye and gave him a polite nod as she passed by.  The next time she met with the heads of the Inquisition in the war room, she listened to his thoughts and suggestions instead of immediately shutting him down.  Taking his advice still made her nervous, but no matter how closely she paid attention, she could see no ulterior motives in his actions - only a desire to help the Inquisition.

She even began to attend some of the training sessions he supervised in the mornings.  Cullen was a demanding teacher, accepting nothing less than excellence from his recruits - and for good reason.  A single mistake on the battlefield would cost them their lives.

However, that didn’t mean he was unkind.  Harsh, occasionally, but never cruel.  It had taken her a couple of morning training sessions to notice the extra attention he paid to the newest recruits, the ones who had come from farms and fields rather than a barracks.  Some of the more experienced soldiers had taken to pushing them around in training, soundly beating young men and women who had never held a sword before without a chance for improvement.  It was Cullen that pulled them aside to teach them the tricks that allowed them to thoroughly trounce their tormentors the next time they sparred.

He had noticed her watching him lead the new recruits in a training exercise once.  His gaze had wandered over her hiding place in the shadow of Haven’s wall and he did a double-take, his eyes snapping to meet hers.  Evelyn froze where she was standing, caught between fight and flight.

_Neither,_ she reminded herself.   _He’s an ally.  There’s no need for fear._  Instead of stalking off like she hadn’t been watching him or glaring him down, she simply held his gaze, her face flushing, unsure what to do now that she had be caught.  She was glad for both the distance between them and the shade she stood in, so he couldn’t see the evidence of her embarrassment coloring her face.

Cullen was the first to react.  His hand jerked up from where it had been resting on the pommel of his sword.  He hesitated for just a second, the hand hovering awkwardly in midair, before his fingers spread outward and he gave her a hesitant wave.

The motion was so unexpected, so uncertain, that she almost laughed.  Cullen usually kept up such a serious, confident front at the war table; seeing him look indecisive was endearing in its own strange way.

Her own hand rose up as well, and she offered up her own nervous wave of her own, as well as a slight smile to go with it.  One side of his mouth turned up in a crooked grin.

It didn’t last long, as his head jerked to the side when of the recruits dropped his shield again and he marched up to scold him, but it stuck in her mind as one of their first positive interactions.

It was the way he treated the few mages that had joined the Inquisition that really convinced her, though.  He was civil to them, helped them settle in when he needed to.  Courtesy was the bare minimum requirement for the way a templar treated a mage, so she hadn’t been impressed at first.

That is, until she noticed the rhythmic way his hands clenched and unclenched whenever he was speaking to a mage - the same nervous tick she had developed lately whenever she was speaking with a templar, a not-quite-unconscious effort to hide any shaking in her hands (and in her case, an attempt to dispel the magic that gathered at her fingertips in response to her anxiety).

Maker, he was just as nervous around mages as she was around templars, but while she had pushed them away to protect herself, Cullen was overcoming his apprehension for the sake of the Inquisition.

_Master your fear,_ her mentor used to say, _or it will master you._  Evelyn had allowed her fear to rule her for far too long.  Cullen was the one setting a good example, not her - she only needed to follow his lead.

She finally approached him the morning before she was to leave for Val Royeaux.  The dawn training session was over, and only a few recruits remained outside of Haven’s walls, practicing the techniques the Commander had taught them a few more times to ingrain the movements into their muscles before wandering off to find their first meal of the day.

A small table had been set up outside of the tents that were being used as a temporary armory, a few papers stacked with rocks resting on top of them to keep the brisk morning wind from whisking them away.  She knew from experience that the papers were full of requisitions.  The Inquisition was currently in the interesting position of having more recruits than they had supplies, and orders went out every day for everything from uniforms to materials for new training dummies.

Evelyn found Cullen leaning against that table, his face turned toward the rising sun.  His eyes were closed and he breathed deeply, seeming to simply be enjoying the beginning of the day.  The morning light lit up his golden hair and bounced off the silverite armor he wore under layers of wrapped, crimson fabric.  The effect was uncanny - in the dawn’s glow, he blazed, as if illuminated by some inner light.

The sound of the snow crunching under her boots heralded her arrival, and Cullen’s eyes slowly opened when he heard her approach.  The change was immediate - he stood up straight from his leaning position, his hands returning to his sides where they had once been crossed loosely in front of his chest.

Even when she stopped in front of him, it seemed to take him a moment before he realized she was actually here to talk to him, and not someone just behind him.  “Ah, good morning,” he managed to get out.

“Good morning,” she greeted him in return, dipping her head respectfully at his acknowledgement.  When she raised it again, she realized she had to look up slightly to meet his eye.  Evelyn had been tall even when she had been a girl, looking down even on the older boys.  However, Cullen was even taller than she, though not by more than an inch or two.  Still, the effect was strange - it wasn’t often that she felt small, and even rarer that she felt so without being afraid or sad.  (Nervous, maybe - but the fear had mostly been chased away.)  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Wh - no, no!  You didn’t.  Disturb me, that is,” he said too quickly.

“Do you...mind if I join you, then?”  Evelyn took note of the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed and how one hand rose to rub at the back of his neck.  His eyes had darted away from her again, focusing anywhere but her face, and the hand that remained at his side had started up that agitated twitching again.

However, despite his nervousness, he acquiesced.  “Of course.”  Once more, he leaned back against the table, this time curling his hands around the wood behind him.  Though the pose should have looked natural, his body looked was too stiff, making the motion more awkward than it should have been.

Evelyn didn't want to scare him, even if he was putting on a show of staying collected.  She moved forward to mimic his posture, leaning back against the table with her arms crossed to protect herself from the morning mountain chill, but as far away from him as she could manage.  It was further than she normally would have positioned herself for a conversation, but it did wonders - the rhythmic tick of his fingers against the wood of the table slowed, and his shoulders dropped slightly from their tensed position.

But she still had _no_ idea how to start.  Weeks of her own frosty animosity stretched the already considerable space between them even further.  How did she even start to bridge this gap?

“It’s a beautiful morning,” she tried hesitantly.   _Terrible start!_ she scolded herself, but she had already begun, and she could only press on.

“It is,” he agreed, just as carefully.

“Maybe I should start more of my days out here.”

She felt his eyes dart toward her face before they returned to the frosty landscape before them.  The last of the recruits finally sheathed their swords, chatting amicably as they left the training yard.  “If you’d like, Lady Trevelyan.”

She winced at the title.  Right.  That.  “It’s Evelyn.  Just Evelyn.”

This time when his gaze flicked to her face, it remained.  “Are you sure?” he asked slowly.

She nodded.  She might have corrected him to address her more formally before, but no more.  “I am.  I haven’t been ‘Lady Trevelyan’ since I left for the Circle.  I only make people use my title if I’m mad at them.”

The last bit had been meant as a joke, but Cullen was silent for a long moment.  “Ah,” he finally said.  The tone of his voice was strangled and strange, filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.  Disappointment?  Hurt?  Confusion?  She wasn’t quite sure.

Her chin tilted down, and she nudged at the snow beneath her feet with the toe of her boot.  “About that…” she cleared her throat briefly.  “I’m sorry.  I’ve been treating you poorly without any reason whatsoever.  You’ve been nothing but kind to me, and yet I’ve brushed you off at every turn.  That was unworthy of me - and unworthy of you, too.”

“I…It’s fine.”  If he was trying to hide his surprise, he was doing a poor job of it.  “I’m used to mages disliking me on principle.  In comparison, you’ve been...very considerate.”

“Hardly,” she snorted, “and even if I have, comparisons shouldn’t matter.  You’ve done nothing to hurt me, and I should be setting a good example.”

“Ah.  Cassandra spoke with you.”

“She did, but she was right.  She only needed to point it out to me.”

The longer they spoke, the more Cullen seemed to relax.  He still looked nervous, but not quite so much as before, as if the more they talked, the more he forgot that he was speaking to a mage instead of a regular person.

“You have more than enough reason to be upset, though,” he pointed out.  “You’ve probably seen the worst that the templars can do.”

She hesitated briefly.  “It’s...more complicated than that,” she said slowly.

Cullen waited patiently for her to continue, though it made the silence stretch on for several seconds.  Finally, she asked, “Did you know I used to like the Order?”

That surprised him.  “Really?”

She nodded.  “The way I came into my magic...it wasn’t pleasant, and I spent my first year or so in the Circle terrified of it - of _myself_.  The only thing that brought me any peace was the presence of the Order.  They were the ones that gave me the confidence to finally try to learn more about the abilities that had been thrust upon me, because I knew if I made a mistake, if I lost control or was possessed or any of the number of things that could go wrong when it comes to magic, the Order would be there to stop me and keep me from hurting anyone.”

“Of course, Ostwick was also not a typical Circle.  Most of what anyone hears about it is that it was terribly _dull_ \- Ostwick has fewer reported possessions, apostates, and blood mages than nearly any other city in the Free Marches.  Because of that, the templars are more relaxed than the ones you would find in other Circles, and even the rules about interactions between them and their charges were mostly ignored.  Since the templars were so much more easygoing, for the most part, mages didn’t fear them either - I used to count several templars in the Ostwick chapter of the Order among my closest friends.  There were extremists on both sides, obviously, but they were in the minority.”

“News about the Kirkwall Rebellion caused some unrest in the Circle, but for the most part, everything stayed the same.  Our First Enchanter left for Cumberland to meet with the College of Enchanters.  Everyone expected it to blow over eventually, and the Circles would return to how they had once been.”

“Everything changed when the letter came in from our First Enchanter, when the College voted to separate from the Chantry.  No one had expected the outcome.  The Knight-Commander, though, was the sense of stability we needed.  The Ostwick Circle of Magi would abide by the College’s decision - and yet many mages still stayed in the Circle instead of leaving.  It was the only life they had ever known, and the Ostwick Circle had always been safe.  Even when most of the Order broke away from the Chantry, the Ostwick templars stayed loyal.   _That_ was how deeply the trust ran.”

“However, not everyone was happy with these decisions.  Since the Circles had been dissolved, some of the more radical mages decided to leave and join what remained of the College and the rebellion at Andoral’s Reach.  The Knight-Commander allowed them to leave, surprisingly enough - which angered some of the templars under his command.  They had no choice in the matter, though - the Divine would allow the mages to break away from the Chantry, and the Knight-Commander followed her decisions.  Without rebelling themselves, they couldn’t do anything.”

“Well, not without orders from the Divine, at least.”  Evelyn swallowed thickly, and her eyes dropped to the ground again.  The end of the story was always difficult to tell.

“There was a day, several months back, when a letter arrived with the Chantry’s seal attached to it.  A writ from the Divine herself - invoking the Rite of Annulment on all mages that had remained in the Circles.”

“And the Knight-Commander - a man who I had trusted to protect me, not only from myself, but from anything the outside world might throw at me - he _obeyed_ it.  He sent out the orders, and templars - men and women I used to think of as my _friends_ \- started throwing open doors in the middle of the night, murdering any mage they could find.  Even the Tranquil weren’t safe.”

“As you can imagine, the mages of the Circle did not accept this decision, and fought back.  The slaughter was - _horrendous_.   _Monstrous_.  In a single day, more abominations were created in Ostwick that the entirety of the past decade.”

“Not everyone accepted the orders so easily.  A few templars refused to take part, and some even turned against their brothers and sisters in the Order and began to help the mages.  But the majority did as the writ had asked without even questioning it.  It wasn’t until I snuck into the templar quarters and found that one of the more extremist templars had forged a fake of the Divine’s seal that anyone realized that the order for the Rite of Annulment that the Knight-Commander received had been falsified.”

“By that time, out of more than a hundred mages that had once lived in the Ostwick Circle, less than a score remained.  The Knight-Commander gave a formal apology, but it was just words.  What had once been could never be returned.”

“The hardest to hear was his decision concerning the few templars that had refused to fight with them.  He said their disobedience could not be tolerated within the Order, even if they had been in the right.  The worst of the rebels were executed, the rest were kicked out of the Order.”

“ _That’s_ why my feelings on this matter are complicated,” she finally finished.  “My mind knows that there are good and bad templars, just as there is good and bad among everyone else.  The heart is not so easily convinced - especially when all it remembers when it sees the Sword of Mercy is the bloodbath in Ostwick.”  She looked to her right, her eyes coming to rest on his face once more.  “But...something tells me it’s the same for you too, isn’t it?  Mages aren’t so easy to trust, either.”

His head jerked to the left the meet her eye, but then his chin dropped again a he focused on the ground.  “I - that is - Yes.”  He swallowed thickly.  “I used to serve in Ferelden - in Kinloch Hold.  When...During the Blight…”  The words sounded forced, even to her ear.

“You don’t have to,” Evelyn said quickly, and he shot her a relieved look.  “I was the one that’s been in the wrong, and you deserved an explanation for why I was treating you as I was.  You don’t owe me anything, and you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want.”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” he breathed.  “And thank you.”  His jaw worked as he formulated his next sentence.  “I _am_ sorry about what happened in Ostwick, and how it stained your view of the Order.  There _are_ good and bad templars - I strive to be the former, but I’m afraid I accidentally stumble into the latter category far more often than I would like.  But I will try to prove to you that I am worthy of your trust.”  He finally focused on her face, his eyes determined.  “I swear it.”

“That you say you will earn it instead of just asking for it already says more than you could know,” she said warmly, giving him a slight smile.  He returned it, before his cheeks pinkened and he glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.  Still anxious about her magic, then. “I will try to do the same.”

“You don’t need to - “

“I do,” she said firmly.

Cullen hesitated, but then he nodded.  “Thank you.”

Evelyn’s teeth sunk into her lower lip briefly before she spoke again.  “I...wonder if I might ask you a couple of questions.  About the Order.”

“If you want to know what the templars are doing right now, I’m afraid I can’t offer anything more than what you already know.  I had already left the Order by the time they broke away from the Chantry.”

“Not about that.  I actually wanted to know more about the Order itself - what it’s like living as a templar, what life was like in other Circles.  I’ve seen a couple of other Circles, traveled to Starkhaven and Markham, but I’ve only ever lived in Ostwick.”  She shrugged.  “Maybe I’m trying to find a reason for what the templars did in my Circle, some sort of justification.  I don’t know.  I’d like to hear anyways.”

His eyes softened.  “I don’t know if I can answer that.  Most likely, they felt backed into a corner and thought they had no other choice.  It doesn’t make what they did right, but…I’m not sure.”

“Tell me anyways,” she insisted.

“If you’d like.  Where do you want me to start?”

She paused to consider his question.  “How about joining the Order?  How did you become a templar?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”  Her mouth quirked up in a smile.  “You _are_ the only one here.”

His head jerked up and he surveyed the training yard, only just now realizing that it had cleared out.  “Blast,” he muttered to himself.  “I _told_ Everett he was supposed to run that drill for at least an hour.”

That prompted a chuckle from her, and he turned his head to give her a ghost of a smile before answering her question.  “Most templars were promised to the Order at a young age - some are even given to the Chantry at birth."

“Were you?”

“No.  I grew up in Ferelden, near Honnleath.  There was a group of templars stationed at the Chantry there - it’s not uncommon for apostates to flee into the Frostbacks, so they were needed for security reasons.”  A wistful smile spread across his face.  “I used to be fascinated - to me, being a templar was about protecting people in need, and I could think of no higher calling.  I used to beg them to train me, and finally the Knight-Captain spoke to my parents, who agreed to send me for training.”

“What _is_ the training like?  Both of my younger brothers joined the Order, but they never spoke of their training when I wrote them.”

“They may have felt it wasn’t interesting enough to write to you about.  There’s weapon and combat training, history lessons, memorizing portions of the Chant of Light - the training is intense, but the content is standard.  Many would find it boring.”

“Did you?”

“On the contrary - I loved it.  If I was going to devote my life to the Order, I wanted to give it everything.  I would be the best templar I could.”

“Ah, the model student.  I can see that,” she said with a smile.

“I _tried_ to be,” he chuckled.  “I can’t say I was always successful.”

The two shared a laugh at that before Evelyn asked her next question.  “What about becoming a templar?  Is there a test, or do you just wake up a full-fledged member of the Order one day?”

“There is no test, but an initiate must be at least eighteen before they can officially become a templar.  There’s a vigil the night before - you’re meant to be at peace, meditating on the Chant of Light and starting into the sacred fires of Andraste, but your whole life is about to change.  At dawn, there’s a small ceremony, attended by your brothers and sisters in the Order and your family, if you know them.  You say your vows in front of the fire, and the Knight-Commander gives you your first draught of lyrium - and the power it bears.”

“Vows?” she asked.  “What sort of vows?  Hopefully not ‘I swear to the Maker I shall watch all mages’.”

“Nothing like that,” he smiled.  “We swear not to seek wealth or acknowledgement.  Our lives belong to the Maker and the path we’ve chosen, not our pride.”

“I see,” she said, but there was a question that had been nagging at her for years, ever since a templar with bright green eyes and a crooked smile had taken her hand and pressed his lips softly to her cheek.  She had heard rumors, but…”A life of service and duty.  Does that mean that templars are also expected to give up...physical temptations?”

“Physical temptations?  Why would you-” he cut himself off abruptly, re-evaluated why he wanted to know, and changed his next statement.  “It’s...not expected.  Templars are allowed to marry, though there are some rules around it.  Some choose to give up... _more_ to prove their devotion to the Order, but it’s not, um, required.”

It was hard not to smile at the flush slowly spreading across her cheeks.  Back in Ostwick - during the good times, at least - her friends used to tease her because she blushed easily and noticeably, and had even made up a little contest to see who could match the color of her face to her hair the closest.  She hadn’t understood the appeal.

Until now, at least.

She gave a sly smile.  “And you?”

“Me?”

“Yes.  Did you give up, ah, fraternization?”

Though asking made her face burn as well, the reward was well worth it.  The red of Cullen’s blush now reached from his hairline all the way down his neck.  “Um, ah - no.  I’ve taken no such vows, so I’m not...celibate.”  He cleared his throat suddenly.  “Maker’s breath, can we please speak of something else?”

Evelyn laughed, but obligingly changed the subject.  “What was a typical day like for a templar?  After you’ve taken your _vows_ , of course,” which prompted another fit of embarrassed coughing from the man beside her.

Their conversation wandered after that, ranging from more questions about the Order to her own time in the Ostwick Circle to complaints about the Inquisition’s lack of supplies.

Eventually, when the sun was high in the sky, Evelyn plucked herself up from the edge of the table.  She had moved closer to him while they were talking when a cold morning wind had started up, whipping their words away as they spoke them.  There was still a good foot of space between them, but Cullen’s larger frame had blocked the chill of the breeze excellently.  Best of all, he hadn’t seemed perturbed when she had shifted closer to him - it was nice to see that they might be able to overcome their differences.

“I should probably leave you to find lunch before you have to run more drills,” she said.  “I need to find Josephine - she wanted to brief me on my trip of Val Royeaux before I leave.”

Cullen also stood up straight from his leaning position.  “That’s right.  You leave tomorrow morning, don’t you?”

Evelyn nodded.  “Do you think you can keep the peace while I’m away?  I saw the fight outside the Chantry the other day - I know Chancellor Roderick has been stirring up trouble.  Remind me why we’ve allowed him to stay?”

“Chancellor Roderick is an annoyance, but he’s harmless as long as he’s here in Haven.  He’d be far more detrimental out in the rest of the world, slandering the Inquisition.”  He snorted.  “Or, at least, that’s what the Lady Ambassador keeps telling me.  Don’t worry about Haven.  It will still be standing when you return - I’ll make sure of it.”

“I hope I can return with good news, then,” she said, making her way around the table toward the gates of Haven.

“Oh, and Lady Trev - Evelyn,” Cullen corrected himself.

Evelyn paused to glance back at him.  “Yes?”

“Stay safe.”

“You don’t need to worry about that, Commander,” she said with a smile.  “I always do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try to post these once a week, but I figure since we're in the first chapter and this has been decently popular, I'll post an extra bonus chapter this week! Next chapter will be posted on Saturday.
> 
> Check me out on tumblr at [wordsinthenight](http://wordsinthenight.tumblr.com/)!


	3. Sunrise

“We have a problem.”  Cassandra’s first words as she entered the war room, compounded with the fact that she had returned from her trip to the Hinterlands nearly three days early, did not bode well.  Cullen frowned and replaced the piece he had been about to move across the war table back in its original position.

However, instead of announcing the problem, Cassandra jerked her head to the door of the room and marched out.  Leliana rushed after the Seeker, her mouth set in a hard line.  Cullen and Josephine exchanged a confused glance, but followed after the two women into the snows of Haven.

Cassandra led them all the way to the front gate, where a groom was already leading away the piebald stallion she had left on a couple of days ago.  The others were only just arriving at the front gate.  Despite how nondescript the sweet-tempered brown mare Evelyn had chosen from the stables was, the afternoon sun on her dark red hair lit her up like a beacon.  He remembered seeing it long enough to hang to her waist when they had first met on the battlefield, but she had convinced someone to help her cut it only a few days after the Breach was stabilized.  Now, the fiery strands barely even brushed her shoulders - but stood out no less against the snow.

Varric’s chubby little pony trotted along next to Evelyn’s horse, and the dwarf grinned up at her, gesturing wildly as he told some wild tale or other.  Solas’ cantankerous gelding trailed behind the group where he wouldn’t be tempted to bite the other horses, but Solas was still listening intently to Varric’s story, smiling indulgently.

That should have been everyone - but a fourth horse walked abreast with Evelyn’s; a great grey beast that must have been at least eighteen hands high.  The Inquisition _certainly_ didn’t have mounts that fine - the hunt for a stablemaster had been going slowly, though Evelyn was certain she could convince a horsemaster from the Hinterlands to join them.  For the time being, they were forced to make do with what horses they had.

The man was also most definitely not of the Inquisition.  He was dwarfed by his horse as soon as he dismounted- but what wouldn’t seem small next to a fine horse like that?  A magnificent black beard graced his face, which wasn’t quite long enough to cover the silverite griffon emblazoned on his breastplate.  A Grey Warden, then.

“Warden-Constable Blackwall,” Cassandra murmured to Cullen.  The man - Warden Blackwall - walked to stand by Evelyn’s horse.  She pulled her leg over the animal so she was sitting sidesaddle, and he reached up to her.  Cullen didn’t miss the way her face pinkened and her lower lip caught between her teeth as she braced her hands hesitantly on his shoulders, and he placed his on either side of her waist, helping her to slide slowly off of the horse.

Leliana turned to a man that appeared at her right - one of her many little birds, not doubt - and whispered something to him.  The man nodded sharply and disappeared.

It was only when Blackwall moved away from Evelyn once more that he noticed the white wrapping around her left foot.  “You’re hurt,” he blurted out, his eyebrows drawing together in worry.

Evelyn finally seemed to notice that they had an audience.  She jerked back away from Blackwall, her hand twisting together nervously in front of her.  “Um...”

Varric stepped in for her.  “Sunrise here got a little overzealous when chasing down a bandit.  Let him lead her right off a ledge into a ravine!”

Her face flushed an even deeper shade of red as she glanced away from her small audience.  “It’s not bad.  Just a sprain.”

“We’ll have the healer look at it,” Leliana finally spoke up.  “Do you think you’ll be ready to return in a couple of days?  Grand Enchanter Fiona still want to speak with you in Redcliffe, and I’d rather not delay.”

Evelyn nodded.  “With the healer’s help, I should be fine by then.”

“Excellent.  Cullen will be going with you.”

Cullen shot her a confused look.  “I will?”

Leliana glared when Evelyn glanced away briefly in Blackwall’s direction.  “Yes.  You remember what we discussed earlier, about supervising the building of the watchtowers?  The ones on the path from the farms to the Crossroads?”

They had most certainly _not_ discussed him accompanying Evelyn to Redcliffe, but Leliana had that look in her eye; the ones that never seemed to bode well for him - especially since he had a feeling it had to do with her ‘grand plan’.

Better to agree with her now and argue the topic later - or maybe not, considering that she still had that file.  “Ah, right.  We did.  I’ll have to prepare before we leave, but we should be ready by the time you’re healed, Evelyn.”

“Will you join us in the war room after you’ve spoken to the healer?” Leliana asked her.  “There are a few things we’d like to go over.”

“Of course,” Evelyn nodded.  “I, ah, might need some help getting there, though.”  She glanced down at her injured foot.

“I’ll help the lady around for now.”  Blackwall’s voice was gruff, but not unkind.  He glanced up toward Leliana, who had turned the force of her gaze upon him.  “By your leave.”

Before Leliana could protest, Evelyn interjected.  “Yes!” she exclaimed, before realizing her enthusiasm.  “Ah, I mean, that’d be much appreciated, if it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience for you,” she said with a shy smile, peeking up through her lashes at the Warden.

Leliana’s smile had frozen upon her face.  Cullen could nearly see the gears turning in her head, trying to find a way to turn the situation in her favor without alerting Evelyn to her intentions.

Josephine stepped in before Leliana could say anything.  “An excellent idea, ser,” she said, that charming smile spread wide across her face.  “Try not to dally for too long - we’d like to conclude our meeting before the sun sets.”

“I’ll try,” Evelyn agreed. “Healing takes time, but hopefully I won’t be too long.  I’ll meet you there.”

By the time Blackwall offered her his arm for her to lean on, Evelyn’s cheeks were glowing scarlet, the flush even covering her ears and creeping down her neck.  Hesitantly, she took the offered support, standing a little closer to him than she needed to.  The two ambled away, Evelyn still limping on her injured foot.

“The war room,” Leliana said crisply as she turned on her heel to march off in the other direction.  “Now.”

As the heavy oak door clanged shut behind them, Leliana moved to stand before the war table.  She braced her hands on it and glared so fiercely that Cullen worried she was trying to burn a hole through the map.

“This _is_ a problem,” she finally said.

“It’s a pity that her meeting with the Grand Enchanter will be delayed,” Cullen agreed, “but it could be far worse.  Her ankle will heal soon, so she’ll only be a few days later than expected.”

“Her _ankle_ isn’t the problem,” Cassandra snapped.  “It’s the Warden she brought with her.  He will ruin everything before it has even begun.  Did you even notice the way she looked at him?  It’s been like this ever since he joined us.”

Cullen _had,_ in fact, noticed the way she acted around Blackwall - he would have had to have been both blind and deaf not to how bashful she became around him - but though Cassandra and Leliana seemed on the verge of panic, the revelation brought Cullen only relief.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” he asked.  “If Blackwall has caught her interest, we should allow her to pursue him.  We can always manipulate her through him.  Blackmail, if we need to - Leliana certainly seems to be able to dig up more than enough of it on everyone else,” she said bitterly.

“Absolutely not,” Leliana said sharply.  “We know nothing about this Blackwall.  I’ve already sent an agent out to investigate him, but even then we still cannot know what his intentions are.  With access to Evelyn, he has access to control of the Inquisition.  We cannot let anyone else have a stake in this.”

“He seems the honorable sort,” Cassandra mentioned.  “I doubt he would try to seize power, but we have no way of knowing if he’ll agree to help us.  He may not be willing to manipulate her into caring for him just to help our cause, no matter how worthy.”

_But I am?_ Cullen wondered silently.

"What _I_   want to know is how he managed to attract her so quickly,” Leliana mused.  “He’s only had a few days in her presence, while we’ve been working for weeks.  Right, Cullen?”

There was a beat of silence before he remembered his voice.  “Ah, yes.  Working very hard,” he agreed, but he must have paused too long, because Leliana’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

After looking him up and down, she sighed deeply, the frustration evident in her voice.  “Maker, you’re _not_.  Have you even _tried_ to catch her interest?"  she said slowly, as if talking to a child.

"Well . . . I spoke to her, at least.  And I told her I wasn't celibate,” he said.  Lying to Sister Nightingale often had disastrous results.  Cassandra scoffed, and he shot her a confused glance.  “Why is Cassandra making that disgusted noise?"

“Because you don’t sound like you’re even _trying_.  No wonder she’s turned to this ‘Blackwall’ instead of you.”

The truth was, Leliana was right.  Cullen _hadn’t_ really been trying - and any actual attempts he had made had been half-baked at best.

It was the whole _plan_ that made him nervous.  Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have been difficult to befriend Evelyn - she was gracious and well-mannered, but not in a cold way, at least not since their conversation that day in the snow.  They had spoken several times since then, though their conversations had been careful, as each still held a wariness for the other, like two frightened animals circling around and around, but neither ready nor willing to fight.  Mages and templars had wronged each other too many times for either to accept the other’s tentative friendship without a second thought, but every time they approached each other - always _so_ cautiously - their relationship warmed a little.

But even as they became more friendly, Cullen found himself more and more on edge.  Every time she approached him his stomach twisted uncomfortably, and every time they spoke his tongue tied itself into stupid knots.  Cullen knew he was no master of courtship under normal circumstances, but knowing that he was going through each day _lying_ to her, manipulating her emotions, even for a cause as worthy as the Inquisition, made the task nigh-on impossible.

The women of the war council offered their help in whatever way they could, though Cullen suspected it was in an effort to distract him from his reluctance.  Josephine had made suggestions of various romantic gifts he could get her, but it felt strange to be buying her things this early on their acquaintanceship - _especially_ using money from the Inquisition’s barren coffers.  

Cassandra had suddenly declared one day that he should start leading training drills shirtless when he knew she was watching, swearing that Evelyn would approve of the change.  (Cullen had refused.  Even if it _would_ help, he was not going to parade himself around like a prized showhorse; not even if he had truly wanted to be with her.  Besides, it was nearing winter, and they were in the mountains - he wasn’t going to risk injury due to the cold for this.  To his relief, Leliana had backed him on his decision, declaring that losing his nipples to frostbite wouldn’t help win Evelyn’s attentions any quicker – at least, not in the way they wanted.)

Even Leliana had been helpful, not only by protecting him from the wilder of Josephine’s and Cassandra’s ideas, but by offering ideas of her own.  Cullen was almost surprised that she hadn’t handed him an outline with specific goals and a timeline for their relationship already - though that might have been easier for him, if not more practical.  Outlines and specifics would have been better than all this...uncertainty.

“It’s not as simple as that,” he protested.  “You’ve seen how she is, how well she reads people.  If we’re not careful, she’ll see right through this.  I’m not even sure she’ll allow herself to be manipulated into decisions, relationship or not.”

“I already have contingencies in place.  It will be slow going, but if we’re careful we should be able to convince her of anything,” Leliana said.  “I don’t think it will be necessary, though.  One good thing has come of all this - we get a chance to see how Evelyn reacts when she _is_ interested in someone - look at how off-kilter she is around Blackwall after only knowing him a few days.  If we can reproduce the same attraction toward you, we should have no problem running the Inquisition through her - I doubt she’d even realize.”

“But how do _I_ lie to her?”

“The best lies are made from the truth,” Leliana responded.  “Find something real in what you will build, and base it around that.  She will not see deception if you are only presenting honesty.”

Cullen was prepared to protest again, but he didn’t know how.  Leliana was the liar, not him.  And find truth in a lie?  How?  Evelyn was beautiful, but he certainly did not love her.  He was slowly - _slowly_ \- starting to consider her a friend, but though many a love sprang from companionship, it would hardly create the illusion of the passionate whirlwind of a love affair that Leliana believed they would need to pull this off.

“One more thing,” Leliana said.  “I want you to start writing me reports on the progression of the relationship.”

It took him a moment to fully comprehend her words.  “ _Surely_ you must be joking!”

“I am not.   _I_ will keep you on track if you cannot do it for yourself.  I expect to see your first during your trip to the Hinterlands.  Oh, and try to keep her away from Blackwall, will you?”  With those parting words, Leliana turned and sauntered out of the war room, the door banging shut behind her.

Josephine was slower to follow.  She stopped by Cullen and gave him a tentative smile as she left.  “I’ll see what I can do to separate Evelyn and Ser Blackwall.  Try to remember - we are doing this for a good cause.  The _highest_ cause.”  Then she left, as well.

The words did not give him the comfort that they should have.  Instead, he braced his hands on the war table with a sigh, looking down upon Ferelden and Orlais.  How could he be asked to compromise his morals for the Inquisition?  No one else in Thedas was willing or able to close the Breach or find the true perpetrator of the explosion at the Conclave - but was it worth corrupting himself in this way?

He felt more than heard Cassandra approach him.  She clasped his shoulder briefly, giving it a comforting squeeze.  He turned to give his friend a smile in an attempt to allay her worries, but he feared it looked sickly and weak instead of reassuring.

“I wish there was another option,” she said, her voice surprisingly soft.

“But there isn’t,” he replied.  “I know.”  He shook off her hand as gently as he could.  “Excuse me.  I need to think.  Leliana wants me to win Evelyn’s attention; I need to figure out how.”

“You know, I have this book that might give you a few ideas.  It’s - “

_“Absolutely not.”_

* * *

Traveling through the Hinterlands was _interesting_ , to say the least.  The last time Cullen had been here - had it really only been a few short weeks ago? - he and Cassandra had been traveling on their way to Haven with Varric in tow.  Back then, the war had seemed to have stopped in its tracks, the world waiting with baited breath for news from the coming Conclave.  The residents were nervous and discontented, but alive, and maybe even hopeful.

The explosion had renewed the war in spades.  The holed up mages and templars had come crawling out of the woodwork, each blaming the other for the death of the Divine, with some even claiming that the other side had orchestrated the peace talks just for a chance to get at Most Holy.  That accusations only increased the violence of the frequent skirmishes.

That, or they were simply looking for any excuse to go back at each other’s throats even more viciously than before.  Cullen suspected the latter.

It had been the refugees that had suffered the most.  The Crossroads had been decimated - many of the buildings had collapsed or burned down, and even more people had fled to the one of the few safe havens in the Hinterlands.  Everyone was malnourished, everyone was freezing, and everyone was grieving.

It was incredible to watch their gaunt, hungry faces light up as soon as they rode in that first afternoon.  Heads rose up from where their gazed had been fixed on the ground, and as soon as their eyes found the symbol on the Inquisition’s banners the spark of life returned, leaving them looking almost...hopeful.

Cullen had no doubt that it was in no small part due to Evelyn.  As soon as their horses drew to a stop, she slid out of the saddle gracelessly - which was to be expected, after a full day of riding - and approached the nearest refugee, greeting him by name and asking if his wife had recovered from her illness yet.  It was the same with the rest - she had memorized the names of the refugees even faster than he was learning the names of the Inquisition’s soldiers.  Not only that, but she recognized each person that approached her beyond just their identity, asking specific questions about their prized racehorse’s foal, or the property dispute that was going on with their neighbor, or how their son’s lessons were progressing.  Those that she didn’t know she treated kindly, asking their names and if they were comfortable in the Crossroads.  She always promised she would find a way to fix things, that she would end the war and they could return to their homes soon - and they _believed_ her.

Cullen didn’t blame them - when she sounded so convinced, so sure of herself, he could almost believe her, too.

Unfortunately, he didn’t see much of her that week.  She, Blackwall, Varric, and Solas stayed the night at the Crossroads as the Inquisition began work on the first watchtower on the path to the farms before the four left for Redcliffe Village early the next morning.  Evelyn still had a meeting with Grand Enchanter Fiona, after all.

It was easy to follow her trail, however.  As they moved up the path a couple days later to begin construction on the second tower, the villagers would approach them hesitantly but optimistically - as opposed to not at all - thanking the Inquisition for getting rid of a group of bandits, or delivering blankets - Evelyn’s doing, he was sure.  She was changing the people’s view of the Inquisition nearly single-handedly.

Her extended absence from his side dismayed Leliana.  (At least, he thought it did - it was difficult to tell through letters.  However, the displeasure radiated through every word the spymaster wrote upon the page.)  When Evelyn finally returned, it was with a grim look on her face, her eyes cool and her mouth set into a hard line as she told him of the events at Redcliffe.

Though the news horrified him - the mages had _sold_ themselves to _Tevinter?!_ \- it at least distracted Leliana from pressuring him into garnering Evelyn’s attention.  Instead, the letters came in and went out from the Inquisition’s camps at least thrice a day, as he, Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra debated on what was to be done.  Leliana was more adamant than ever that they should try to recruit the mages - but why should they try to ally with them when they had already proven that they were willing to turn to Tevinter - their _enemies_ , who would _enslave_ them - before their own kinsmen?  Let them deal with the consequences of their actions.  The templars, meanwhile, were made up of men and women that Cullen had known personally, that he knew they could trust.  They may have been acting erratically, but that was all the more reason to investigate.

After that, Evelyn and her party stayed close to the Inquisition soldiers and their construction efforts.  Though they rode out early every morning into the depths of the Hinterlands to help the farmers and refugees and spread the Inquisition’s influence, they returned by nightfall every day.  Evelyn’s face would light up when she saw him, hopeful for any kind of news about their decision, but when he shook his head to indicate they had yet to come to a consensus, it fell once more.

It was strange to see how much Blackwall threw her off balance, though.  When speaking to anyone else, even if she didn’t have an answer, Cullen never doubted her conviction.  She stood tall before adversity, unflinching and dauntless.  As soon as Blackwall approached, however, she began to stutter and blush and second-guess.  Cullen had no doubt Leliana’s plan would work if they could direct that same instability towards him - but though he was sure of its effectiveness, he still questioned its morality.

The evening before they were to leave the Hinterlands, Evelyn did not return with the group.  Varric quickly allayed his fears as soon as he saw the worried look on his face.  “Sunrise found some farmer’s missing druffalo,” he explained quickly.  The dwarf had cycled through a number of nicknames for Evelyn, but had finally settled on ‘Sunrise’ - why he picked the most abstract name he could think of, Cullen had no clue.  “It was too spooked to go anywhere, so she told us to go ahead while she dealt with it.  She’ll be back soon.”

Sure enough, Evelyn returned, but not until after the sun had set and the stars were already bright in the sky.  Solas had already gone back to his tent, as had Blackwall.  Varric was still awake, writing his latest masterpiece - or so he claimed.  Most of the soldiers had also retired, though some still gathered around the fires, telling stories in soft voices.  Cullen himself was also ready to go to sleep, but he didn’t want to retire to his tent until he knew that Evelyn had returned safely.  Instead, he found his whetstone and unsheathed his blade, laying it across his knees.  A soldier was only as good as his equipment, after all.

He stiffened when he saw the magelight come floating out of the forest, but relaxed once more when he recognized Evelyn’s face illuminated in its eerie light.  The druffalo trailed behind, her hand wrapped firmly around its rope lead.  It eyed the light at the top of her staff warily, but seemed calm otherwise, lumbering along after her with little complaint.

He caught her eye as she headed for the stream dividing the camp and the farms.  She gave him a smile and a wave, then indicated the stable across the way.  A lantern burned in one of the windows.

Cullen nodded back at her, then returned his attention to his blade.  She’d be back soon enough.

She was gone for far longer than he would have thought, though.  Even after he had finished sharpening his sword and polishing all of his armor, she had yet to return.  Cullen eyed the light still burning in the stables before standing from his spot by the fire.  The sheath, with the sword sharp and ready once more within, was buckled to his belt as he left the camp, nodding to the sentry who saluted him.

He could hear the soft voices echoing from within by the time he stepped through the gates surrounding the pasture.  A woman stepped out when he approached, heading back to the farmhouse.  She paused once she saw Cullen.

“Ah, Commander,” she greeted him, and Cullen recognized her as Seanna, the daughter of one of the farmers.  “Lady Trevelyan’s inside with the little one, if you want to talk to her.  I need to grab something from inside, but I’ll be back.”  With that, she bounded off, full of energy despite the late hour.

Evelyn was indeed just inside, but he didn’t enter.  Instead, he rested his arms on the low wall separating the lit stable and the darkened fields, peering into the building.  Evelyn was sitting cross-legged within, leaning back against the opposite side of the same wall he was standing by.  The Inquisition uniform she had been gifted with before leaving Haven had a few new bloodstains on it - he wondered who been foolish enough to get close enough to her to spill their blood on her clothing.  The oranges and browns of the fabric brightened the emerald green of her eyes, as well as highlighted the numerous freckles scattered across her fair skin.

Sitting in her lap, wrapped in an off-white blanket, was a goat kid.  It squirmed in Evelyn’s grip, kicking one little black foot out of the bundle before she managed to wrangle it back.  Every once in a while it would go after the bottle in her free hand before returning to its fruitless struggle.

“Come on,” Evelyn grumbled, “Stop fighting.  Why won’t you eat?”

“Tilt your elbow up,” Cullen suggested.  “It can’t get the milk if you hold the bottle flat.”

Evelyn tilted her head back to look at him, exposing the long column of her neck as she did so.  The scratch she had gotten from a bandit’s knife a few days back, running from her jaw to her collar, was healing well, and was little more than a fading pink line now.  “Oh.  Good evening, Cullen.  I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here.”

Obediently, she tilted the bottle up, and the next time the kid went after the teat, it latched on and suckled, and the milk began to drain.  She smiled as it settled down into her lap before turning to look back at him.

“Thank you.”  Then, her head cocked to one side.  “You’re not wearing your armor.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without it.”

“Ah, yes.  I took it off to polish it before bed.  It’s...not exactly comfortable to sleep in, but I didn’t want to turn in without knowing if you were back yet.”

“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” she said.

“I wanted to,” he replied, and she looked back down at the goat in her arms.  He had already chugged half of the milk in the little glass bottle.  “What _are_ you doing here?  I thought you were going to drop the druffalo off and come back.”

“That was the plan,” she explained, “but Seanna was telling me that her favorite goat gave birth earlier today.  Twins, but she rejected this one, the poor fellow.  Anyways, it was time to feed him, so I volunteered to stay and help.  Apparently I’m not very good at it.”  She laughed softly.

“You’re not so bad now that you have the hang of it,” was his response, “but you didn’t need to stay if you didn’t want.  We could have sent one of the recruits to help, if Seanna needed it.”

“No, I wanted to do it.  I like being able to help.”

“I’ve noticed it.  That you like helping, that is.”  He left the unspoken question hanging in the air.

Evelyn was silent for a long moment before replying.  “I do.  It’s a nice change.”  The goat in her arms finally released the bottle, but this time he didn’t try to wriggle away.  Instead, he settled itself more comfortably in her arms and rested his chin on her shoulder.

“Have I ever told you the story of how I came into my magic?” Evelyn said suddenly.

Cullen shook his head.  “No.  You mentioned it was...unpleasant, but you never said anything beyond that.”

She nodded.  “That’s right.  It was...I…”

The discomfort on her face made Cullen hesitate.  He wouldn’t push her into talking about a subject that distressed her.  “Evelyn, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.  If it’s-”

Evelyn was already shaking her head, though.  “I want to,” she replied.  “Honesty is the best apology, and honesty is the best gift you can give to a friend.  I want you to know.”  She turned her head to give him a slight smile over her shoulder.  “It’s an old hurt, anyways.  It’s like a scar - it may be ugly to look at sometimes, but it’s not painful anymore.”

Somehow, Cullen doubted that, but Evelyn was insistent.  “If that’s what you want, I’ll hear you out,” he said slowly.

Evelyn nodded decisively, but Cullen didn’t miss the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes before she glanced away.  “Like I said, the first time I used my magic wasn’t...pleasant.  I had been playing a game of find-and-catch with two of my little brothers - the elder was ‘it’.  He had found me and was chasing after me.”

She hesitated for a moment in her story, her hand raising to pet the sleepy goat’s head.  Cullen wondered what her expression was, but she had likely turned from him for a reason, and he wouldn’t push her further than she was comfortable.

“There was a moment when I got...overexcited,” she said haltingly.  “He had gotten too close, so I turned to push him back, but...but I didn’t _just_ push him back.  When I threw out my hand, I _also_ threw out a fire-and-ice spell, which hit him in the face.

“He lived, thank the Maker, though he lost an eye.  He probably still has the scars.  I don’t know.  I left for the Circle the day after, and I haven’t seen him since.  You probably know that it’s not uncommon for the Chantry initiates at the Circle to tell mages that their magic is a curse, that the reason they’re mages is because the Maker hates them.  For the longest time, I _believed_ them, and I had good reason to - no one but a monster would maim their sibling like I did.  I thought I was hexed.  I grew out of it, eventually, with the help of other mages as I learned to harness and control my magic - I haven’t had an incident since - but in the Circle, even in ones as dull as mine, there’s always an underlying implication that your magic is evil and dangerous and you have to be controlled, or you’ll do...something like I did.

“But this...this is _different_.  I had almost forgotten what it was like not to live every day wondering if you’re going to become the danger you fear.  All of a sudden, I have the chance to show that I can do something good.  That my _magic_ could be good.  That maybe even...maybe even _I_ could be good.”  When she looked back at Cullen, her face held none of her previous uncertainty.  Her eyes blazed with confidence.  “I _can_ ,” she insisted, her conviction returned, “and the Inquisition has given me the chance to prove that.  I value that more than I could ever say, and for that, I will give anything.  The Inquisition has given me a place - now I will find a place for it in this world in any way I can.”

Cullen was dumbstruck.  It seemed impossible that this generous, giving woman could have ever seen herself as a monster, let alone that anyone else could.  Within a course of a few weeks, she had nearly single-handedly brought peace back to one of the most war-torn parts of the continent.  Though still recovering, the Hinterlands was now seeing a peace that most of Thedas was now missing, thanks to her efforts.

Not only that, but the residents were healing, slowly learning to trust again after years of war.  She was the ear that listened to their woes, the roof that protected them from storms, the shield that defended them from enemies, and the sword that struck down any that would harm them.  It was no wonder she was called “the Herald of Andraste”, more caring and attentive to them in a matter of days than the Chantry had been to them in years.

All of a sudden, Cullen understood why Varric had taken to calling her ‘Sunrise’.  She inspired the refugees to pick up the shattered pieces of their lives and not only make something of them, but to reach out and help those around them, as well.

It really wasn’t all that surprising to realize that she inspired him, too.

That only made his next question all the more difficult to ask, but he had to know.

“You don’t know what the Inquisition could ask of you before this is over.  What if-” he had to stop and swallow his nerves before he continued.  “What if you’re asked for something...difficult?  Something you don’t know if you can make yourself do, even if you know it’s for the greater good.  Something that might...hurt people?”

Evelyn was silent for a long moment.  “I never expected this to be easy.  The very nature of the Inquisition is to take the difficult path that no one else will, all to close the Breach and save Thedas.  It can’t be all sunshine and roses.  I’m not saying I’d follow blindly if the Inquisition decides to cut through Orlais to dethrone the Empress to take power for themselves - but I also trust that, if the Inquisition found evidence that the Empress herself had opened the Breach, they would not sit idly by.  We do what is necessary to save the world.”

Something unwound in him at her words; a tension he hadn’t even realized he had been carrying for the past few weeks.  He would always hold a distaste for Leliana’s grand plan...but Evelyn was right.  He wasn’t foolish enough to mistake her words for permission, but it was an understanding.  If she was willing to take the hard path to do what was necessary, then so was he.

And, one day, he believed she would make a wonderful Inquisitor.  She brought hope to the people...and the people brought hope to her, too.

He still didn’t think he could fabricate a convincing love based simply on friendship - but maybe, with admiration and respect piled on top...maybe…

“Thank you,” Cullen said earnestly.

“I know this can’t be easy for you, either,” Evelyn said.  “I’m only an agent of the Inquisition.  You’re an _advisor_ \- one of the ones making all those difficult decisions.  Just know - you don’t need to doubt me.  I will follow where you lead.”

Cullen glanced away at that, but since she was facing away from him, she couldn’t see the guilty look on his face.   _I hope, one day, you’ll be able to forgive me for this._

“By the way,” Evelyn said casually, though the tightness in her voice betrayed her nerves, “I hope what I’ve shared with you doesn’t...change your view of me.  I know you’re not entirely comfortable with my...magic, and telling you I’ve lost control of it once doesn’t exactly help my case.”

“Not all cases of the first use of magic are so simple as sparking fingers or a frozen tankard of ale.  You were a child; you couldn’t have known what you were doing.  Even if you had wronged, you’ve more than made up for it here and beyond,” he told her gently.

Then, softer, he said, “You’re allowed to forgive yourself.  If you can’t find that forgiveness - in yourself, or somewhere out in the world - I don’t think there’s any hope for the rest of us.”

Evelyn was silent for a long, long time.  “Forgiveness?” she whispered.

Cullen was about to respond, but then her chin dropped back again so she could rest her head against the wall behind her and look up at him.  Her eyes were wild with an expression he couldn’t place, and her knee bounced in an uneven, jerky tempo.  Cullen got the feeling that if she didn’t have the goat, who was looking rather disgruntled at having his rest disturbed, in her lap, she would have been pacing.

“Maker, I am _such_ a fool!” she hissed.

“Pardon?”

“ _Forgiveness_ ,” she said impatiently, as if that one word explained everything.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m following.”

“That’s the key to everything,” she insisted.  “I’ve been sitting here blabbering on about looking for some sort of forgiveness, even after everything I’ve done, and maybe I even deserve it, I don’t know.  But doesn’t _everyone?_ ”

“Yes?” Cullen guessed, bewildered.

“Then why have I been denying it?  I’ve been judging and condemning this whole time - with good cause, but there was reason to fear me, as well.  Shouldn’t I at least give a chance?  Let them prove themselves as they are now, rather than what I saw in the past and what I’ve heard?”

Cullen was still putting the pieces of her words together when she stood, the goat squirming in her grip once more.

“Send a message to Leliana,” she said breathlessly.  “Tell her to make the preparations to leave for Therinfal Redoubt immediately.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Typically, I won't do midnight updates and I'll wait for Saturday morning/early afternoon, but I'm going to be really busy tomorrow, so I wanted to get this up early so I wouldn't have to worry about it then. Hope you all enjoy. <3
> 
> Check me out on Tumblr at [wordsinthenight](http://wordsinthenight.tumblr.com/)!


	4. The Queen of Spring

Though a chilling, late autumn wind blew through Haven, none of its residents seemed to notice.  Even the clouds approaching from the west, grey and heavy in preparation for the coming storm, did nothing to dissuade the revelers from their festivities.  After all, the Breach was closed, and the people of Thedas were safe once again from the demons that had been crawling out of it.

Evelyn, however, felt no such relief.  She knew she should have been happy - ecstatic, even.  The templars - those that had remained uncorrupted by red lyrium, at least - were their allies, and had already proven that they were dedicated to helping the Inquisition and their cause.  The Breach was gone, and though there were still rifts to close across southern Thedas, there was no longer the risk of a hole in the sky spitting out even more for them to deal with.  They still had to find the one who had caused the explosion at the Conclave - the mysterious “Elder One” - but for now, it was time to celebrate their victory.

But instead of excitement, Evelyn was left feeling deeply disturbed.  The events at Therinfal Redoubt still haunted her - red lyrium?  The Envy demon?  The images of her as a tyrannical prophet? - but she had been able to put them from her mind for a time.  The templars crawling around Haven had held her attention for too long, but they had been nothing but polite.  They seemed to realize that she - a mage - had been the one to save them, and they respected her and the Inquisition for that.  Besides, there had been no time to worry about what she had seen when they were busy preparing to close the Breach.

It wasn’t until recently that the feeling had really set in - _very_ recently, in fact.  Even before the army had marched back through the gates of Haven, its residents had begun the celebration, lighting up bonfires within the high walls surrounding the town.  Their dancing around the flames was accompanied by the few minstrels that had remained in Haven, each trying to compose a ballad about her exploits faster than the next.

But when she tried to join in on the fun around one of the fires, still riding on her high after closing the Breach, the dancing and singing had immediately stopped and a hush fell over the revelers.  Most backed away as she approached, respectfully dipping their heads.  A few actually dropped to their knees, prostrating themselves before her.  “My lady Herald” was repeated over and over in hushed, reverent murmurs as she passed.  One woman even reached out to touch her sleeve, before backing away with a soft gasp as if she had been blessed by the Divine herself.

It was...unnerving, to say the very least.  Evelyn still wasn’t sure if what they said - that she was chosen by Andraste, that the Maker’s Bride herself had guided her out of that rift - was true, as her memories of the time were still nonexistent, but even if it _was_ true, this wasn’t how she wanted to be treated.  She didn’t want to stand apart from these people, let alone above.

Was this how Andraste felt, when she led the armies of the faithful through Tevinter?  Did being treated with such deference leave her feeling bewildered and alone, too?

She quickly excused herself from the celebration.  She didn’t want to ruin their fun.

Instead, she slipped out of Haven’s gates.  It was too cold to just stand outside the walls without protection, but the smithy and stables were only a short walk away and would hopefully be both warm and deserted.

There was a single figure within, though, outlined by the dying light of the forge.  It took her only a moment to recognize the raven hair and thick beard.  Once she did, she paused by the doorway.  Talking to Blackwall always made her trip over her words - and sometimes even her own feet.  She couldn’t seem to keep from acting like a complete fool when she was around him, as often seemed to be the case when she had a crush.

But maybe that was what she needed right now.  Feeling awkward and off-balance had to be better than the restless, troubled feeling coiling in her gut.

After a moment’s hesitation, she cleared her throat to announce herself and stepped into the warmth of the blacksmith’s hut.  “Hello,” she greeted.  She nearly winced when she heard her voice - high-pitched and nervous, instead of throaty and sultry like she had wanted it to be.  She guessed she was glad her voice hadn’t cracked halfway through, though considering her luck, she was surprised it hadn’t.  She was grateful for the red light of the fire, which disguised her blush, at least.

Blackwall startled as soon as he heard her, whirling to face her.  “Ah...my lady,” he managed to get out after a moment.  “I didn’t hear you enter.”

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to surprise you,” she replied, managing to force her voice into a more natural octave this time around.  She offered him a shy smile.  “You know, you don’t have to call me ‘my lady’ all the time.  It’s a little...formal, I suppose?  Evelyn is just fine - if you’d like that.”

But Blackwall shook his head.  “I’m sorry.  My manners aren’t so easily forgotten.  You _are_ a lady, and you deserve the respect that goes with the title.”

Her heart sank a little at his words.  She didn’t want him to be _mannerly_ with her, not now, when she craved familiarity more than anything else.  “If you want,” she replied uncertainly.

He continued on, even though she desperately wanted him to stop.  “It’s even more true now than before.  You saved the templars.  You closed the Breach.  And soon, you will find and defeat this ‘Elder One’.”  Maybe the words were true, but the way they were said made her stomach churn.  These were not the words of a friend comforting a friend in a time of frustration.  They were reverent and softly spoken, as if in a Chantry before a statue of Andraste.

Slowly, he approached her, and he took her marked hand in both of his.  Slowly, he sank to one knee.  The devotion in his eyes should have elated her, but instead it made her want to recoil away from him.

“You’ve done so much,” he whispered, “And you will continue to climb and do so much more.  Of this, I am certain.  You need not doubt my conviction.  I will follow and serve you to the ends of Thedas and beyond.  I swear it.”  The solemn, dutiful vow made her think of a knight, taking a vow to serve and protect his lady.

Or of a disciple, seeking his prophet’s favor.

That thought scared her more than anything else.  Vocalized or not, Blackwall believed she was the Herald of Andraste, chosen of the Maker’s Bride.  Maybe that wouldn’t have been so terrible, if the title hadn’t eclipsed Evelyn Trevelyan, leaving her hidden away in the shadows, desperate to be seen.

“I…” she said, speechless.  How was she supposed to respond to this?  She wasn’t even sure if she _deserved_ treatment like this, let alone _wanted_ it.

One thing was for sure, though: she couldn’t stay here.  The look in Blackwall’s eyes sent a jolt of panic through her; she needed to get _out._

“I need to go,” she whispered, pulling her hand from his grip and clenching it over her heart a she backed away.  “I’m sorry,” she said, by way of farewell, and with those words, she turned and fled the scene.

That was how she found herself standing on a ledge above one of the many bonfires scattered around Haven, watching men and women whirl in joyous circles around it.  Their elation did nothing to lighten her heavy heart.  As much as she wanted to join in - she was sure it would lift her spirits, at least a little - she feared that as soon as she approached, the celebration would screech to a halt at once, and the whispers would start up again.

Evelyn didn’t think she could stand a repeat of that.  Being placed on a pedestal was terrifying, especially once so far above everyone else.  Ever since she had first stabilized the Breach, there had been a few of the deferential types that approached her, looking for a blessing or advice.  But now?  The _worship_ and _awe_ they showed every time they approached her?

It was unsettling, to say the very least.

Not to mention the events at Therinfal Redoubt still echoing through her thoughts; the twisted dreams of herself binding the Inquisition to her will and conquering Thedas for herself with an army of demons at her back.

Though the illusions had scared her, she had done her best to put the thoughts from her mind when she returned.  There was too much work to do, and so little time left.  And besides, even if she did become a tyrant, who would follow her?  She was just an agent of the Inquisition - rumored to be the Herald of Andraste, true, but surely no one would follow if she began to summon demons and conquer kingdoms for her own gain.

After tonight’s display, she wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Staring into the mirror, and Envy stares back.  Mouth twists, teeth sharp in the reflection, but it’s my smile, it’s me, _it’s me_.”  The soft, whispery voice right over her shoulder should have surprised her, but she had quickly gotten used to her strange companion’s way of quickly coming and going.

Cole, at least, was one person she didn’t have to worry about idolizing her.  Perhaps it was his nature as a spirit, or the fact that they had first met in her own mind, but he had seen her for _her_ in an instant - not the Herald of Andraste or anything else.  She was slowly beginning to realize she had few friends that could do that - and they were getting fewer all the time.

She turned her head to face him, and he continued on after a moment’s pause.  “But...what you saw...it’s not you.  Not really.  Just what Envy showed you.”

“It could be, though,” she replied.  “It would be all too easy to be who...to be _what_ Envy showed me.  To fall into the role, to do...” she waved her hand vaguely, “all of those things.”

“You were stronger than Envy,” was his response, “and you’re stronger than you, too.  Herald, lady, mage, apostate, Evelyn.  But...you think they’re all you now.”  Then, he quirked his head to the side.  “ _Are_ they all you?”

Evelyn looked down.  “I don’t know anymore,” she whispered.  She didn’t always understand everything Cole said, but some statements rang through loud and clear.

“Oh,” he murmured.  “It’s - “

“Evelyn!”

That voice _did_ surprise her, and she jumped a little before turning to see Cullen striding across the snow toward her.

“ _He_ understands,” Cole whispered to her while Cullen was still too far away to hear.  “Take the wrong path, but try to keep to the right.”

She wanted to ask what he meant, but Cullen was already within earshot, covering ground more quickly that she had expected.  When she saw the wary way he looked at Cole, she understood.  Neither Cullen nor Cassandra were fond of the boy, as evidenced by the way their blades went straight for his throat the first time they had met - though that may have been more due to his sudden appearance than his nature.  Still, both were gradually coming to trust the boy more and more, especially once they had heard of how he had saved her at Therinfal.  It was a slow process, but the tentative friendship that had bloomed between Cullen and herself hadn’t happened overnight, either.

Cole seemed to understand their caution, too, for which she was grateful.  He never forced his presence on either of them - on _any_ member of the Inquisition.  She could see his efforts to make all their days a little easier, though - like the little flowers Cassandra tucked into her scabbard, and the way she would smile, softer than she had ever seen her smile, every time her fingers brushed against them.

Still, that vigilance also led to the occasional awkward moment like this.  Cassandra hadn’t liked leaving Evelyn - or anyone else - alone with a spirit.  Vivienne was of a similar mind, though the language she had used was much stronger.  It seemed those feelings also applied to Cullen, considering the cautious way he looked at Cole.

He stopped once he was a respectful distance away.  “Is everything alright?  You were looking...perturbed.”  His gaze was still focused on Cole, though.

“We’re fine,” Evelyn assured him.  “We were just talking.”

“Yes,” Cole agreed, “Just talking.  Not trapping, not hurting.  There is no Uldred here.”

Cullen bristled at his words, and Evelyn cut in.  “ _Cole_ ,” she said, more sharply than she had intended, and the boy startled.  “Don’t,” she murmured, more gently this time.  “I know you want to help, but some things hurt more when you bring them up.   _Especially_ in front of other people.”

Thankfully, Cole didn’t seem to be offended by her harsh tone.  He didn’t seem to be offended by much of _anything_.  He was silent for a long moment.  “Like the little fish?” he asked.

Evelyn flinched at his words, but kept her voice even.  “Yes.  Like the little fish.”

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s fine,” she replied.  “Would you mind giving us a moment, Cole?  I’d like to speak with Commander Cullen.”

Cole nodded.  The next time she glanced in his direction, he was gone.

Evelyn glanced down with a sigh.  “Sorry about that.  He means well, but he’s still makes mistakes sometimes - like all of us, I suppose.  Just...give him a chance.  You’ll warm up to him.”

“If you say so.”  Cullen didn’t sound convinced, but she let it slide for now.  “I...about what he said…” he cleared his throat awkwardly.

Evelyn shook her head, though she didn’t turn to look his way.  “Don’t tell me.  If you want to unburden yourself, I will always listen, but don’t feel like you’re obligated to just because Cole said something.  Only when you’re ready.”

Once more, the look of relief spread across his face, and she gave him half of a smile when she saw it out of the corner of her eye.  “Thank you,” he said earnestly, but then he cleared his throat.  “What about you?  You were looking...troubled before I walked over here.  Did Cole say something to upset you?”

“It wasn’t him,” she replied.  “I was troubled before he found me; he just wanted to find a way to help.”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again.  “The same goes for you as well, you know.  If you’re not comfortable, you don’t have to, but...if you need an ear, I’m here.”

Evelyn scuffed the snow beneath her feet with the toe of her boot, piling it up into a tiny mound in front of her.  It wasn’t that she was uncomfortable, but...how did she even begin to describe something like this?

“You know that we found an Envy demon at Therinfal, right?” she said slowly.  “And you know that it tried to trap me and take my form before Cole helped me break free?”

When Cullen nodded, she continued, “When I was trapped, Envy...showed me things.  It was supposed to be the Inquisition under its rule - summoning an army of demons, assassinating the Empress of Orlais, conquering Thedas as the Herald of Andraste with an army of the faithful following blindly along.”

She paused for a moment.  “And?” Cullen prompted.

“I wonder…” she cleared her throat briefly.  “I wonder if it was really the Inquisition under Envy.  What if it’s not?  For all we know, it could actually happen.”

“Are you saying that _you_ might try to do all those things?”

“No!  I mean, maybe.  I don’t know.  I don’t _think_ I ever would.  I’m not a tyrant, and I wouldn’t want to do those things.  But still, I’m the Herald of Andraste - and even if I’m not, they all believe I am.”  She nodded at the revelers below.  “If I do something like that, who would stop me?  Who would tell me no?  Certainly not them.  I may think I’m doing it for the greater good, doing what I need to do, but how do I know?  Maker’s breath, I even _joked_ with you about overthrowing the Empress of Orlais not too long ago.”

“Evelyn, I honestly can’t see that being a problem,” he told her.  “Not from the same woman who’s been traipsing all over the Hinterlands fetching lost druffallo and missing wedding rings.”

“It almost was,” she murmured, and caught his curious glance out of the corner of her eye.  “The templars,” she elaborated.  “I almost condemned them all for the actions of a few.  If I hadn’t gone to Therinfal, who knows where the Order would be now - all corrupted by red lyrium, probably.  I was even trying to push _you_ away for a while, and you’ve been so kind to me.  And before I became trapped in Envy’s dream, I was - I was planning to bind them to the Inquisition.  I wanted to dissolve the Order and force the remaining members - who had done nothing wrong, might I remind you, and were only following the orders of their superiors - to serve us.  If those aren’t the actions of a villain, I don’t know what are.”

She couldn’t stand to look at him, to see the condemnation in his eyes.  Instead, she focused her eyes ahead on the stormclouds slowly creeping down from the mountains.  The celebration below would have to stop soon, or at least be put on hold - from the look of the clouds, they were in for an incredible blizzard sometime in the next couple few hours.  She squeezed her arms, crossed in front of her, closer to herself.

A heavy hand landed onto her right shoulder, squeezing comfortingly, and she turned her head to look Cullen in the eye despite her trepidation.  There was no judgement there - only a calm certainty.  “Even if you were planning to,” he said slowly, “You didn’t.  You realized what you were doing, and you acted according to your conscience.  Who could ask for more?  You’re one of the few people even trying to do _good_ anymore.  No one expects you to be perfect - and when you’re not, that’s why we’re here.  Leliana, Cassandra, Josephine, and I.  We will help.”

His words brought her a surprising amount of comfort.  Though a little bit of that dismay remained, most of her worry faded into the background.  It reminded her of the templars, back when she had first arrived at the Circle and still trusted them.  Maybe she was powerful, but if she ever overstepped her bounds, if she ever lost control of her magic (or in this case, herself), she had someone to hold her down and stop her, to protect the people around her.

She gave him a smile, though she directed it back out to the rest of Haven, before raising her left hand and laying it over his to give it a quick squeeze.  “Thank you,” she said, dropping her hand to wrap it back around herself, and Cullen withdrew as well.

She chuckled a little.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t be so gloomy.  Today has been a victory. We should be celebrating, not debating philosophy.”

She finally turned to face him fully.  It was only then that she saw the flowers gripped in his right hand, the violet blooms hanging from his still-armored fingers.  Her mouth turned up in wry amusement.  “And it seems I’ve been keeping you from someone, too.  You didn’t have to stay if you had somewhere to be.  Go.  Your lady or gentleman friend is probably getting impatient.”

He followed her eyes to the flowers in his hand, and a fetching blush crept up from his neck toward his face once he realized what she was looking at.  Evelyn suppressed a chuckle as he began to stammer.  “What?  I mean - this is - I - “

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Evelyn waved him off, though she couldn’t quite contained her amusement, and the laughter shone through in her voice.  “I know how it is.  Don’t worry; I won’t tell Josephine or Leliana.  Or Cassandra.  Maker, who knows what Cassandra would do = probably start planning the wedding.”

“No, that’s not - it’s _not!_ \- It’s just that - I - It’s - “ he struggled to find his words, and Evelyn shook her head, about to shoo him off again.

Then, he did something she never would have expected.  Instead of running off, or trying to explain himself further, he shoved his hand out, offering the flowers - to _her_.

Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat.

Cullen seemed to have found his voice, though.  “I found them,” he explained, “just below the snow line on the way back from the Temple.  I saw them and thought you might like them.”  The last statement sounded almost like a question.

“It’s...they’re woven,” she said dumbly.   _Nice job stating the obvious!_  Sure enough, the flowers - _lilacs_ , she finally recognized them - had been laced together into a circlet.  The dark, waxy leaves that held it all together were Prophet’s Laurel - had he found that too, or had it been pulled from the Inquisition’s stores?  It reminded her of the crowns of flowers she and her friends used to weave every Summerday and pass out among the other apprentices.

“Josephine’s suggestion,” Cullen replied.  “She caught me on my way to see you and showed me how.  I...don’t think I’m as good at it as she is, though.”  Even with it hanging from his fingers, she could see that the purple blossoms were a little lopsided and didn’t quite line up in the crown like they were supposed to.

“Lilacs aren’t very good for crowns.  The branches aren’t shaped right,” she said, just to fill the silence, but then winced at how churlish it sounded.  “You’ve done well, though.”  She searched for an appropriate response, but...how was she supposed to respond to this?  When he was giving her _lilacs_ , of all things?

Cullen cleared his throat awkwardly.  “I know it sounds silly,” he said, “But I couldn’t think of another way to thank you.”

“Thank me?” she asked, startled.

“Yes.”  Cullen shuffled his feet, the flowers hanging from his fingers swaying gently with the motion.  “You…” he made a noise of frustration.  “I’m no good with words.  But you’ve always been honest with me.  Let me try.  For you.”

When she nodded hesitantly, he continued.  “You’ve been good to me.  Better than I deserve, I’m sure.”  When she opened her mouth to protest, he interrupted, “I know we didn’t get on at first, but you had your reasons.  I’m not talking about that.  I’m talking about _after_.  No one else would listen to me when I told them the templars could help.  Even Cassandra wanted to go meet with the magister and Grand Enchanter Fiona - and no one would have blamed you for choosing to help mages over the Order after everything you’ve been through.  But you _didn’t_.  You took a path you knew would be difficult to walk because you _wanted_ to believe in the best in them.   Even when you went to Therinfal, after what you saw, you would have had every right to dissolve the Order - I think even _I_ would have.

“But...you gave them a second chance.  You gave _me_ a second chance.”

He paused for a moment before continuing softly. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that...you’ve inspired me.  You’ve held yourself to a higher standard than anyone else.  You’ve forgiven when you have every right to be angry, and you’ve gone above and beyond for the Inquisition because you think it’s _right_.

“I want that, too.  You’ve given everything to the Inquisition without reservation.  I had...misgivings, before all of this.  But when I see you, working as hard as you do...they disappear.  If you have no doubts, then neither do I.  I can promise you that.”

The determination on his face and the way his eyes fixed squarely on hers left no room for uncertainty.  There was nervousness, to be sure, but also the type of resolve she saw so rarely.

His words touched her in a way she hadn’t expected them to.  Maybe it was the truth in his voice and his face, but Evelyn thought it had more to do with the way he spoke to her - the way he met her eye and didn’t shy away submissively, the way he addressed Evelyn, instead of the Herald, the way he offered a gift as simple as flowers instead of his lifelong service or worship.  It left her paralyzed for an entirely new reason.

Her silence apparently unnerved Cullen, because he sighed shakily and glanced away.  “None of that made any sense, did it?  I’m sorry.  You don’t have to accept it if you don’t want,” he said as he began to withdraw his hand.

“No!” Evelyn cried, finding herself able to move again.  Her hands shot out to grab his wrist to keep it in place, and he jumped slightly when it brought her into his personal space.  She glanced up to meet his golden eyes - startlingly close - and froze for half a second before ducking her head back down.

Slowly, Evelyn untangled the flowers from his fingers before stepping back slowly away from him.  She turned the circlet in her hands, running her fingers over the leaves and delicate blooms, careful not to damage it.

She wondered if he knew how much his gift meant to her.  She wondered if he knew how relieving it was to receive something as simple as flowers instead of being thanked by throwing himself at her feet.  She wondered if he knew how much the time and effort he had put into the small, leafy crown touched her heart.

She wondered if he knew that lilacs stood for the beginning of a new love.

_Of course he doesn’t_ , she thought.  He himself had mentioned that he had simply found them outside of Haven on the return from the Temple - lilacs were hardy; he had probably just picked the first flowers he had seen without thought for what they would mean.  If he did, she doubted he would have brought her those particular flowers.  Maker, he probably didn’t even know flowers had a language all their own.

Josephine, however, had to have known.  She had probably decided not to mention it to Cullen so as not to dissuade him from his gift.  The Prophet’s Laurel woven in, however, had to have been Josephine’s idea.  Glory, victory, honor, nobility, achievement - probably the exact words she was using to extol Evelyn’s virtues to every noble house in Thedas right now.

Slowly, she raised it up to rest the crown upon her head, glancing up at Cullen from under the circlet and smiling shyly through the fierce blush splashed across her face.  

She knew she had to say something, but how did she even being to express herself?  “Don’t tell me your mother taught you ‘when in doubt, bring flowers’ too?” she asked to hide her self-consciousness instead, clearing her throat to hide the sudden tightness in her chest.

That earned her a soft chuckle.  “I think every mother in Thedas must say that phrase at least once to her children,” he said with a smile.  He stepped forward to adjust the crown on her head slightly, lifting one of the lopsided lilac branches to rest on the delicate shell of her ear so it was balanced correctly.

His proximity did nothing to help her blush or her ability to speak.  She cleared her throat, and he seemed to realize how close he had come to her, and startled back a step.

Finally, she found her voice, and she looked back up at him.  “Thank you,” she whispered.  “Truly.  I don’t know how to...I...Thank you,” she repeated.

He finally smiled again, soft and kind as he looked down at her.  She smiled back, lacing her hands in front of her, not really sure what to say to him after that, but the moment didn’t need words.  She was happy to bask in the warmth of the soft, warm, fuzzy feeling that enveloped them.

The moment was shattered when a bell rang out over the skies of Haven, and Cullen’s head jerked up.  Evelyn’s eyebrows knitted together.  “That’s the warning bell.  Enemies approaching.  Who would…?”

“The front gates,” Cullen said grimly.  Evelyn nodded, and the two hurried off, pushing through the crowd of revelers below that had paused in their celebration at the sound echoing out over the town.

The gates were bolted shut by the time they arrived, two men holding them closed against...whatever was outside that was crashing against the door.  Cullen moved from her side to confront a scout, panting with her hands on her knees.  He spoke to her in a hushed voice, and the scout gave him a murmured report, interspersed with pauses while she drank deeply from a canteen another recruit handed her.

Evelyn approached the gates as they shook.  Bursts of light showed through the crack underneath the wooden doors - fire spells being cast at an unknown enemy.

“How many, Cullen?” she asked.  “And who?”

He shook his head as he returned to her.  “Unknown.  The force is _massive_ , but they don’t carry any banners.”

“None at all?”

“No.”

Evelyn’s mouth set into a grim line.  No information - except that they were probably outnumbered.

But the shaking of the door had stopped, as had the fire spells.  A voice echoed from the other side.  “If someone could open this,” it called, a little pained, “I’d appreciate it.”

The guards at the door hesitated and glanced at each other, and Evelyn stepped forward.  Cullen caught her arm.  “Careful,” he murmured, but Evelyn shook her head.  She was _always_ careful.  Instead, she took several more steps forward and gathered her magic into her hands, prepared to fight whatever was beyond.

“Open the gates.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to title this chapter "In Which Cullen Shows His Appreciation By Making The Shittiest Flower Crown Ever", but I thought this was even better.
> 
> I'm going to have to play catch-up on the kmeme version of this fic so I can keep ahead of the chapters.
> 
> Check me out on Tumblr at [wordsinthenight](http://wordsinthenight.tumblr.com/)!


	5. Avalanche

Cullen stared out at the frosty valley below from his vantage point.  He had been up on this rise only once before, only days after the founding of the Inquisition, when his soldiers had been clearing a northern trade route.  The view then had been busy, but peaceful.  Haven had looked like the dollhouse his younger sister used to have when she was a child, the Inquisition crawling like ants through the paths between the buildings.  Though he hadn’t been able to hear the recruits training from so high up, he could see their officers running drills outside of the walls.

Now, the view was an entirely different type of peaceful.  Haven was gone - as if it had never been.  Where it had once stood lay only a pristine layer of snow.  Desolate.  Empty.  Silent.

Dead.

“Cullen.”  Cassandra’s voice did nothing to break his trance-like state - not even the snow which caught in his eyelashes and froze into his stubble could move him from his spot.  He was too focused on the valley below, hoping against hope for some kind of sign - the light of a torch, or the glow of her magic - _anything_ to prove that she was still alive.

But the snowfall was becoming heavier once again, and the remains of the village were becoming obscured from his sight.

“We’re passing out of the eye of the storm,” Cassandra said.  “The blizzard will start again soon.”  Her meaning was clear.  Even if Evelyn had survived the avalanche - the chances of which were slim to none - the first wave of the blizzard would have almost certainly killed her, or at least driven her so far off track she would never survive to find them again.  If she was still alive, the second half of the blizzard would surely finish her off.

“She did it for us,” Cullen mumbled numbly, half to himself.  “She knew when she told us to escape that she probably would be buried in the avalanche - she sacrificed herself without a second thought.  We _let_ her sacrifice herself.”  He shook his head to try to clear it.  “She deserved better than this.  Better than the Inquisition.  Better than Leliana’s _plan._  Better than - “  Better than being being left forgotten under a hundred feet of snow.

But he couldn’t go back for her, couldn’t return to dig her body out of the snow, even if she did deserve a proper burial.  Between the blizzard and the threat of that dragon, even if it had flown off hours ago, he likely wouldn’t return, which would leave the Inquisition without a commander.

That wasn’t what she would have wanted.  She would have wanted him to move on - to find the Elder One, and make sure Corypheus never caused another tragedy like the one at the Conclave - or the one that had occurred today.

“I know,” Cassandra said softly.  “I didn’t want to go, either.”  Cassandra had been at her side until the end, along with Solas and Cole, until she forced them to flee.  They had only barely escaped - Cole had actually been caught in one of the eddies of the avalanche, but had managed to break free before he had pulled further down the mountain and buried.

But Evelyn...Evelyn could not have been so lucky.

“One day, we will return,” Cassandra promised, “but for now, you need to get some rest.  We will need to leave as soon as the storm breaks.”  Especially with both the Archdemon and the Elder One still lurking around.  Why had _they_ escaped the avalanche, while Evelyn probably lay dead in the ruins of Haven?

Cullen crossed his arms over his chest and sighed.  Despite the exhaustion that had settled deep into his bones, he didn’t think he would be able to sleep - not after a night like this.  “You need to rest, too,” he pointed out.

“I already have,” she said, and he turned to her with a confused glance.  “Cullen, you’ve been up here for nearly three hours.”

Had it really been so long?  Still, he didn’t want to leave.  He stared desperately out into the night, praying that in these last few seconds, she’d come striding out of the snowstorm, confident and unhurt.

But the wind was picking up again, and the snowflakes falling had turned thick and fat.  Even the Inquisition camp behind him was becoming harder to see through the snow, only visible by the glow of its fires.

He let out a deep sigh, and his shoulders slumped defeatedly.  “You’re right,” he said, turning back toward the camp with only a parting glance behind him.  There would be time to grieve later.

“I’ll stay up here little longer,” Cassandra offered, though they both knew the chances of her finding anything were nonexistent.

He nodded in agreement.  “Thank you.”  Once more, he straightened his shoulders.  He couldn’t afford to appear weak and incapable in front of Haven’s refugees.  There was no turning back.  “Come find me when you...when you leave.  We need to meet with Josephine and Leliana and figure out where to go from here.”  With that, he started the short walk to back to camp.

He had hardly gone twenty yards before he heard Cassandra calling out to him.  “Cullen?”  He turned to look up at her on the rise, her form partially obscured by the snow.

Her eyes were fixed over the ridge, down at the valley below when she spoke next.  Her words were ripped away by the wind.  “What?”

He heard her loud and clear the second time, despite the fact that she was scurrying through the snow away from him.  “There she is!”

Before he even had time to consciously respond, his feet had turned him around, and he scrambled up the rise after Cassandra, slipping in the knee-deep snow in his eagerness.

And there she was, trudging up the mountain, one hand wrapped around her stomach, the other shielding her eyes from the stinging snowfall even as she stumbled up the mountain.  The mark on her hand illuminated her face in an eerie green glow.

“There she is,” he repeated, his voice soft and breathy.  “Look!  It’s her!” he hollered back to the camp, though at this distance he doubted they could hear him.

As soon as he called out, Evelyn - _alive, somehow alive_ \- stumbled and sank to her knees in the snow.  He sprinted forward, tripping slightly over the snow before he managed to catch her just before her head hit the ground.

Cassandra was at his side as he turned her onto her back, ripping off her gloves to press two fingers just below Evelyn’s jaw to feel for her pulse.

For a moment that felt like eternity, Cassandra was silent.

Then,

“Thank the Maker,” Cassandra sighed, and the breath rushed back into Cullen’s lungs.  “She’s alive, but freezing.  We need to bring her back to camp.  Sit her by a fire, warm her up.”

Cullen’s hands were already at the ties of the fur mantle around his shoulders, the fabric falling off his shoulders like he was a molting bird as he pulled it off of himself and wrapped it around Evelyn.  “I’ve got her,” he told Cassandra, even as he hefted Evelyn into his arms, cradling her head in the space between his neck and shoulder.  “Find Leliana and Josephine and tell them she’s back.  I’ll get her warm.”

Cassandra nodded.  “Look for Mother Giselle when you get back.  She’ll help.”  She turned back toward camp, moving as quickly as she could through the snow that reached halfway up her calves.  Cullen followed at a slightly slower pace, careful not to jostle the unconscious woman in his arms.

Thankfully, Mother Giselle was waiting near the entrance to the camp, along with a small crowd of Haven’s refugees.  A collective gasp went up when they spotted red strands of Evelyn’s hair spilling out over the furs of his cloak.

Mother Giselle glanced back at the crowd.  “This way,” she murmured.  “It wouldn’t do to have them exciting her.”

The old Chantry Mother led him to one of the tents set up in the camp, one of the few that had been brought on the flight from Haven.  The inside was filled with men and women on what cots and blankets they could find - though that wasn’t many.  The small infirmary tent had a fire pit dug into the center of it, along with a small hole in the top of the thick canvas to release the smoke.  Thanks to the coals burning within, the inside of the tent was already several degrees warmer than the chilly mountain air outside.

As soon as the flap fell shut behind them, Mother Giselle was at his side.  “Let me see her,” she said, even as she peeled his cloak away from Evelyn’s face.  Giselle’s hand brushed away her bangs to rest on her forehead.  “No fever,” she murmured after a moment.  “Surprising, but good news.  One might set in later, but if we can get her warm quickly enough, it might not.  It seems that our good luck continues.”

“I don’t know if any of this could be considered ‘good luck’,” Cullen replied, his eyes fixed on Evelyn’s face.

“No?  We not only know our enemy now, but we have buried much of his army under the snow this night.  We have escaped Haven with our lives.  We have our Herald back, and she will live.  Who knows what else the Maker has in store for us?” she said with a smile that held more hope than Cullen felt like he could muster.  “We have a few extra blankets and cloaks; you should wrap her up in them.  I’ll talk to a few of the refugees about digging a few stones out of the snow; we can heat them in the fire, wrap them in cloth, and pack them in with her.  In the meantime, stay with her and keep her warm.”  With that, she turned and left the tent.

Wrapping Evelyn up took more effort than it should have, since he was still holding her unconscious form in one arm, but somehow he made do, swaddling her five or six layers of blankets and cloaks.  Cullen hesitated for just a moment when his task was done, glancing at the fire and then back down at Evelyn.  Mother Giselle had told him to keep her warm, but his armor was steel and still chilled from the outside air…

Instead of juggling Evelyn in one arm and fighting with his armor with the other, he lay her gently down on her side on one of the few empty cots.  He tried not to think too hard about why it was vacant - they had lost so many good people today, he couldn’t allow himself to grieve over another one - at least, not until they were safe again.

Evelyn’s eyes were open just a sliver by the time he set the last piece of his armor in a corner of a tent, the emerald green peeking up from between her dark lashes.  He could see a shake had started up beneath the layers and layers of fabric.

“Hey there,” he murmured, rubbing a hand over her shoulder before leaning down to pick her up again.  “You’re safe.  You made it back to us.”  The words were almost more for his benefit than her own, but Evelyn mumbled something unintelligible back at him.  He sat down as close to the fire as he could without burning himself and set her down in his lap, cradling her like a child.  The ground was freezing beneath him, but he could stand a little cold right now - Evelyn could not.

Evelyn didn’t fight him in her daze, content to sit and absorb the heat from him and the fire as she crawled her way back into lucidity again.  Her cheek rested against his shoulders, and the frosty tip of her nose brushed against the side of his neck.  He didn’t complain - like this, he could feel every breath she took.

And every single one of those breaths was a miracle.  Every time she exhaled, he prayed to the Maker it wouldn’t be her last, and every time she inhaled it was a renewal of faith.  Evelyn Trevelyan had walked through the flames of Haven, been buried under an avalanche - and had survived.  Holding her in his arms like this felt impossible, but she was comfortingly alive and safe and _real_ in his arms.

Finally, Evelyn seemed to regain some of her faculties, and she shifted slightly.  When he glanced down at her, her eyes were fully open again and focused on him, though still a little glazed.  “Did we win?” she asked, her voice so hoarse it was nearly a whisper.

He chuckled softly before turning his face back to the fire.  “I don’t know if we _won_ , per se, but I think we can decisively say the Elder One’s army lost.”

He immediately regretted his words when a shadow fell over her face.  “The mages…”

He glanced down, more toward his knees than toward her.  “I’m sorry.”

“I am, too,” she whispered.

Cullen’s heart went out to her.  Of course she would feel a kinship with the mages she was fighting - Evelyn was a mage herself.  She had wanted to save them, and she felt like she had failed - and not only that, but she had been forced to fight them to save the lives of everyone in Haven.  To see them fall so far, to serve someone like the Elder One...Cullen was sure he would have felt the same if he had been forced to fight his brothers and sisters in the Order.

“Evelyn,” he murmured, “You know it’s not your fault.”

“It has to be someone’s,” she replied softly.  “If we had sought the mages’ help-”

“We don’t know what would have happened,” he told her.  “The negotiations with the magister could have failed.  The mages may not have been able to close the Breach.  Maybe other mages would have joined up with his armies.  We _can’t_ know.”

“I fought her,” Evelyn mumbled.  “Grand Enchanter Fiona.  She was so kind to me.  She only wanted to help the mages, to stop all the injustices she saw - and I _killed_ her.  She didn’t _deserve_ to die.”

“Oh, Evelyn,” he murmured, pulling her a little closer to him.  “I’m so sorry.  None of this should have happened – no one deserved to die today.   But...you have to know you can’t save everyone.  You’ll kill yourself just by trying.”

“I _should_ be able to!” she burst out, louder than before, and Cullen glanced to the side as a wounded soldier jerked awake in his cot to his right.  “I should be able to save everyone,” she said again, softer.  “I’m supposed to be Andraste’s chosen.  I should be able to save them all - the mages, the templars, everyone that lived in Haven...but I can’t.”  She released a noise of frustration.  “I couldn’t.  So many are dead because I can’t.  I couldn’t save everyone in Haven.  I couldn’t save the mages.  I couldn’t save Fiona.”  She squirmed, and one of her hands emerged from the blankets she was wrapped in.  “I couldn’t even save your flowers,” she mumbled as her clumsy, fumbling fingers pulled out one of the frozen lilacs still tangled in her hair.

He grabbed her hand before she could go chasing after any more stray flowers or leaves and tucked it back into the blankets.  Her skin was still cold, but not nearly so much as it had been when he had first brought her in here.  “I’ve got it,” he told her, and she obediently withdrew her hand back into the warmth of the blankets as he combed through her hair and plucked out the remains of her crown.

He looked down at her once he was finished.  She wouldn’t meet his eyes and instead focused on the fire, burrowing deeper into the pile of blankets.  Seeing her wrapped up in his cloak, pulling it tighter about her shivering frame and burying her nose into the furs at the collar, stroked something primal and instinctive in him.  Like this, she was safe, protected from the outside world, whether it be the cold or the armies of the Elder One.  Anything that wanted to hurt her would have to go through him, first - and, he suddenly realized, he’d die before he allowed that to happen.

How was he supposed to protect her from her own doubts, though?

“What about all the people you did save?” he asked softly.  “Harritt told me you helped him save everything in his forge, and Flissa has yet to stop telling the story of how you lifted a burning beam off of her and helped her escape the burning tavern.  You did those things, right?”

Evelyn nodded slowly.  “Maybe you couldn’t save everyone, and you couldn’t stop the attack on Haven - but I don’t think even Andraste herself could have done that. But you’ve done _so_ much.  Even just today - you did more than anyone else to help us.  You risked your life again and again - first for individuals, then to let all of us escape.  Without you, we would _all_ be dead.  Maybe that doesn’t mean much to you, but...it does to me.  Thank you.”

When she didn’t reply, he glanced down at her.  “Does that help?”

“...A little.”  Her voice was still shaky and sad.

“Are you okay?”

“No.  But...I think I will be.  Thank you, Cullen.”  She turned to smile up at him, though it was wobbly, and her eyes were damp.

“My pleasure,” he replied, pulling her closer and allowing her to press her face into his shoulder.  He pretended he didn’t notice when the first drops of wetness soaked his shirt, or when her shoulders began to shake for reasons unrelated to the temperature.  Eventually, she would heal, but he couldn’t - and _wouldn’t_ \- force that to happen.  For now, he was content to just be allowed to hold her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the short chapter, but it's necessary and I didn't really want to add too much padding.
> 
> As a reward for your week-long patience for a short chapter, I feel like I should tease you with the title of the next chapter, which is "The Crush". (Finally getting into some of the good stuff~)
> 
> Check me out on tumblr at [wordsinthenight](http://wordsinthenight.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
